


The Price We Pay

by kawherp



Series: V: The L.A. Chronicles [4]
Category: V (1983)
Genre: Dubious Science, Ensemble Cast, F/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Sound science whenever possible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2018-12-25 18:50:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 65,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12042054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawherp/pseuds/kawherp
Summary: It's time for the battle for control of the Los Angeles mothership and ultimately, the fate of planet Earth. Wars may be easy to start, but they bring lots of consequences with them. Lives are lost and survivors have to pick up the pieces and try to move forward. Those in charge are faced with impossible choices. There is a price we pay for freedom and everyone ends up paying in some fashion.





	1. Dawn Comes Early

"Wake up."

Martin tried to ignore the voice. Couldn't he sleep a minute longer? The voice demanded he fight his way though the haze surrounding his mind and Martin reluctantly cracked his eyes open to see Damian standing over him.

"Sorry to wake you, but I waited as long as I could."

Martin looked at his watch and saw it was past the time he had intended to get up. "It's been a long time since I slept through my alarm," he commented as he sat up slowly, still fighting the effects of too little sleep.

Damian made a sound of disgust in his throat. "It's also been a long time since we slept long enough."

Martin pulled on his boots, then retrieved his firearm and contact case from the floor by the cot before reluctantly getting to his feet. Damian handed him a rat he'd dispatched a few minutes previously, then left Martin alone to prepare for the day ahead.

*****

Martin was surprised by the emptiness of the corridor when he opened the door to his room. He had expected for there to be more activity and wondered if most of the rebels were still sleeping. He heard a door close and saw Philip exiting Kim's room. "How is she?"

Philip shrugged slightly and walked down the hallway towards him. "As good as you can expect."

Martin nodded, debating for a moment about going in to see her before deciding against it. He turned away from the corridor leading to Kim's room and headed instead for the large conference room where they were supposed to meet.

The other columnists had already assembled and the human rebels were beginning to drift in. There was an undercurrent of tension in the room, but it appeared to Martin that everyone was focused on the task at hand. He expected no less from his own people, trained and experienced as they were, but he was pleased to see the professionalism in the humans as well. After giving the columnists a few last words of advice, Martin turned his attention to explaining the laser rifle settings to some of the rebels. Last evening's preparations had not included such details, but had focused instead on the logistics of the mission.

*****

As the first streaks of sunlight illuminated the sky, Martin walked alone towards the shuttle. The others were still inside, giving him a few precious minutes alone. He started the engines and donned a helmet before turning on the radio, pleased to hear different units reporting in to the mothership from hiding places around the various airports in the region. He idly fingered the packet of antitoxin capsules hidden in a pocket of his uniform. It was doubtful he would live long enough to need another dose of antitoxin. Hearing the sound of approaching footsteps and voices, he busied himself with the shuttle controls so as not to be discovered indulging in a moment of self-pity.

"Let's do it!" Donovan said as he placed a hand on Martin's shoulder.

Some things never changed, Martin thought as he ignored the physical contact and checked the console to ensure the door was secure before piloting the shuttle towards the mothership.

The flight was brief, but the tension on the shuttle increased exponentially with each passing minute. The first challenge lay ahead, and had the potential for destroying all of their careful planning.

Martin adjusted the microphone attached to the helmet and activated the shuttle speakers so the others could hear both sides of the exchange. Then he opened a channel to the mothership, feeding them a story about needing to refuel before returning to the surface.

"You're not listed in our databases." The disembodied voice of the flight controller filled the shuttle. "And your tracking device is inoperative."

"I suggest you run the diagnostic program," Martin replied smoothly. "With as many problems as there have been with the computers lately, you shouldn't be surprised we aren't listed. I can bring you our flight logs so you can update the system. You'll find everything in order, I assure you."

"I suppose that's what we'll have to do," the controller said, sounding very unenthusiastic about the extra work the troubled computers were making for him. "I've cleared you for landing, but please bring me your logs immediately so we can get this straightened out."

Martin exchanged a look of relief with Mike as he closed the channel, then turned his attention to guiding the shuttle through the portal to the landing bay. Once the shuttle was parked, he shut down the engines and left the pilot's chair. "Drew," he said, nodding once to the columnist before keying the shuttle hatch open.

"How'd you know they were having computer problems?" Mike muttered to him quietly as they watched Drew head towards the controller's booth.

"It's my job to know," Martin answered, gazing over at the cause of those very difficulties. Damian smiled at him in reply but said nothing.

*****

Drew approached the controller's booth with far more confidence in his posture than he really felt. So far, he'd avoided killing any of his own people. That was about to change and he resented Martin a bit for asking him to do this. Still, someone had to maintain the illusion that the shuttle bay was operating normally while at the same time preventing any more soldiers from entering the area. Silently, he handed an empty data pad to the flight controller, who took it and turned back to the console to speak to another pilot. He never saw Drew unholster his laser pistol, and his body slumped to the floor of the booth without a sound of protest.

The distasteful task done, Drew immediately closed the door to the booth and locked it. Shoving the body aside, he shut down all communication between the landing bay and Master Control and signaled to Anthony, who was watching from his post near the front of the shuttle. He didn't watch to see Anthony signal the others it was time for them to move to their assigned stations; he was too busy redirecting other incoming pilots to other landing bays and giving an outgoing pilot clearance to leave. No sooner had the small craft exited than Drew threw the switch to close the shuttle bay doors, making escape for anyone else impossible. He waved the columnists and rebels past, then likewise sealed the doors leading to the interior of the ship. It was only a matter of time before troops arrived and overrode the door locks, but for now, at least, it would keep people out. The loyalists didn't know it yet, but this cavernous chamber had become their tomb.

*****

Caleb was standing immediately behind Martin, watching over his shoulder when Anthony signaled. "I hope this works," he murmured to the fifth columnist as he followed him down the ramp. They were followed by the other rebels, who dispersed themselves throughout the hanger. They waited until Drew sealed the doors, then began the assault. The battle was fierce, but mercifully brief. Caleb was unnerved by how quickly silence descended upon them.

He moved over to where Martin was standing, near the front of the shuttle. "That was too easy."

Martin turned grim eyes to him. "I agree. But we're not done yet." Martin directed some of the rebels to circle throughout the landing bay while assigning the rest of them to the gruesome task of dragging bodies into an empty shuttle.

"William!" Martin called, getting his attention. The Visitor and his human girlfriend trotted over to join them. "You and Caleb can start pumping the toxin," Martin told them. "I've got to get up to Master Control."

Caleb caught Martin's arm as he turned to leave. "Good luck."

"You, too."

William and Caleb exchanged a look, then immediately busied themselves hooking up the hoses to the shuttle's storage tanks. That accomplished, William threw the switch that sent the red dust on its journey through the air circulation system, spreading death in a swift and silent manner.

 

* * * *

 

Martin ducked into a service shaft as soon as he exited the shuttle bay, without waiting to make certain whether or not Drew resealed the doors behind him. He was far too recognizable to simply stroll through the ship's corridors, which was one reason why he was using the ladders in the maintenance shafts to work his way up to the main deck level. Cursing his fatigue, he forced himself to climb faster. Hopefully, Donovan's group would be able to meet Lorraine and reach Master Control without being detected. Then, assuming they were able to force their way inside...

He pulled his thoughts away from the inevitable conclusion and found himself wondering instead what Kim was doing at the moment. Were either of the twins awake yet? Did it really matter? Never in his life had he worked so hard for a goal so far out of reach. Kim had been correct when she'd said they'd succeeded just by surviving.

Martin was distracted from his musings when he heard troops moving in the corridor on the other side of an access panel. While they probably wouldn't hear him over the sound of their own feet pounding in the corridor, this was no time to take foolish risks and he stayed perfectly still. A glance at the label on the panel told him he had to climb up only one more level and use the cramped maintenance corridor to get closer to Master Control without being seen. Hopefully, Lorraine and the others would be there, too.

Finally, the sounds faded and he resumed his climb. Moving on the horizontal was less taxing and by the time he reached his intended exit from the protective cover of the maintenance corridor he was feeling less exhausted. Ever cautious, he listened for several moments before opening the access panel on this level and stepping into the corridor. No sign of Lorraine yet....

An alarm sounded, indicating Master Control had been sealed. Without the explosives Elias carried, there was nothing he could do.

As if hearing his thoughts, Lorraine and the three humans rounded the corner and hurried towards him. "They've sealed off Master Control," he told them, motioning for them to follow him. "Get your explosives ready, Elias. We'll need them as soon as we take out the guards."

There were four soldiers standing outside the main door to Master Control, and Martin ducked back around the corner to quietly assign each one of them to one of the humans. They nodded they were ready, and he dropped his hand. In a single, fluid motion, the rebels moved around the corner and fired. The guards fell almost instantly, though one of them hit Lorraine in the shoulder before succumbing to a second round from Martin's firearm.

With a cry of pain, Lorraine staggered against the bulkhead, trying not to drop the decoder she was carrying. Mike, reacting with greater speed than she had ever seen from a human, took the device from her faltering grasp before it could crash to the floor.

"I'm all right," she insisted, letting her left arm hang limply at her side. "It just grazed me, I think. We have to break through those doors."

Elias waved a small container of powerful explosives in the air, grinning as he strode forward. "Just give me and my magic box a minute to work our charms, and we'll be in."

Lorraine looked at Martin, asking him with her eyes if they had any chance at all. Not liking what she saw in his gaze, she turned away.

*****

"Let's go!" Damian called to Drew as he dashed in front of the controller's booth on his way back from the bowels of the ship. "The troops are on their way! Right behind me!"

Drew keyed the atmospheric doors open before abandoning his post. He followed Damian towards the nearest shuttle. They were seeking protection for themselves which still allowed them to provide cover fire for other returning columnists. Keeping the doors closed was no longer practical, and probably not even possible. The human rebels added to the effort, some using laser rifles and others the noisier, Earth-derived guns as they all made their way towards the tanker that would take them home.

Megan dashed in next, diving to the floor in an attempt to avoid the shots coming from behind her. She skidded to a halt directly underneath the belly of the shuttle that was protecting Drew and felt fire shoot up her right leg. "I'm hit!" Knowing her own life was now forfeit, she unholstered her weapon and turned onto her side, firing at the troops who had injured her. "Head for our shuttle! I'll cover you!"

Damian shook his head and leaned over to shout at Drew. "Get her into the shuttle. We're not leaving her! I'll cover you!"

Drew nodded. He wasn't about to argue the defiance of fleet policy, since helping Megan meant he would reach the safety of their shuttle sooner than he had hoped for. He took hold of Megan from behind, one hand under each arm, and dragged her backwards until there was enough clearance to stand. Then he put one of her arms across his shoulders and dashed for the escape vehicle, ignoring her colorfully-worded protests.

Philip and Alan came in together, killing the soldiers who blocked their way before turning so they could run backwards and cover their own retreat. The red dust was thick in the air, but so many soldiers were arriving that there was always a fresh wave of gunfire. Even so, the bodies of suffocating troops were piling up inside the doorway.

Damian watched helplessly as Philip crumpled to the floor, apparently shot in the chest. Killing the soldier responsible was no comfort. And the arrival of yet another wave of soldiers made even Alan's survival seem unlikely. That made it all the more surprising when he saw Alan bend over and hook his fingers in Philip's collar, dragging him backwards with him as he inched towards the tanker. Defying fleet protocols seemed to be a contagious disease today, Damian thought grimly as he dashed out from his own position of relative safety to help. Anthony materialized out of nowhere and together, the three of them hauled Philip to safety.

Human rebels were likewise falling victim to the advancing troops and he saw several bodies lying near the controller's booth, cut down before the small canisters of red dust they carried had time to act. Just as the Visitors were doing, the humans were collecting as many of the dead and wounded as possible as they retreated towards the tanker. William had thrown his weapon aside completely to carry Harmony's body to safety.

Damian let Alan and Anthony go up the ramp first, carrying Philip's limp form, while he stopped to confer with Caleb. "We've got to leave soon! Get inside!" Then he turned to provide cover fire for the last rebels who were approaching the tanker.

Caleb nodded, casting a wistful glance at the bodies they dared not retrieve before obeying. "Is that everyone?"

Damian glanced around the landing bay before following the last human up the ramp. He pushed the button that would close the door before answering Caleb. "Everyone who's still alive."

Caleb looked at the small group in silence as Drew piloted them away from the mothership. Of the roughly thirty or so individuals who had boarded the shuttle this morning, barely half of their number remained.

*****

Despite his earlier comment about his magic box, Elias had to use two more explosive devices before the door to Master Control gave way. Even then, the doors didn't part easily. Martin and Mike had to apply their combined strength to the task, while Elias lay on his belly at their feet, ready to fire through the parting doors at anyone who tried to stop them from entering. Julie held the decoder, while Lorraine clutched a laser pistol in her good hand, ready to hold off an attack from the corridor.

"What the hell are these made of?" Mike grunted as his muscles protested. Tomorrow morning he was going to be stiff and sore all over... if there was a tomorrow.

"It's a special alloy," Martin replied curtly. "Be ready, Elias." With a final heave, the door slid back into the wall enough to allow them entry. He caught a fleeting glimpse of Diana scurrying for the emergency shuttles, dragging a child with her. Somehow, she managed to elude Elias's shots and the pair escaped unharmed.

Martin unholstered his own sidearm and cautiously stepped inside. The chamber was empty. "Let her go," he told Elias, who was heading for the exit hatch Diana had used. "And see if you can close those doors," he barked at the humans as he slid into the seat at the helm. His fingers flew over the controls in a blur as he started the additional engines needed to move the ship from its current position. "Lorraine?"

"It's armed. We have about four minutes, Earth time," she replied from where she stood, leaning over the decoding device she'd had Julie place next to the self-destruct mechanism.

"We'll never make it. We won't be able to get up enough power," Martin said grimly as he worked the controls.

"Try, damnit!" Donovan snapped at him, hauling angrily at the door panel Martin had forced back. How had the Visitor done it, when he and Elias together couldn't move it at all? He let loose with a stream of expletives and was surprised by the way the door slid back into place.

"Should have cursed at it sooner, I guess," Elias commented softly.

"Any luck?" Donovan asked as he moved to look over Martin's shoulder at the alien controls.

Martin shook his head. "Two engines have already failed. And the structural damage from moving though the atmosphere at this speed will likely rip us apart." As if in affirmation, the ship shuddered and bucked violently. He raised his voice so Lorraine could hear him. "Time?"

"About two minutes. The decoder's working on it, but nothing so far..." she replied grimly. Lorraine looked at Julie and directed the human's attention to the emergency hatch Diana had used. "There are shuttles through there, assuming there are some left. If we do get the ship far enough away... there's no sense in all of us dying."

"She's right," Martin added before muttering a curse under his breath as another engine went off-line. The ship groaned deeply in protest.

"Martin...." Mike said softly. There were so many things he wanted to say...

The Visitor never looked up from his task. "You're wasting time, Donovan."

"He's right. Let's go!" Elias coaxed from the hatchway.

Mike hesitated a moment more, then turned and dashed for the exit, followed by Julie. Even then, he had to stop and look back one last time. The last view he had of the bridge was of the two Visitors calmly working at their posts as they tried to produce a miracle from the failing ship.

*****

The one-minute alarm sounded. Martin paused long enough to glance over his shoulder at Lorraine, and she shook her head at him.

As suddenly as it started, the alarm stopped. She spun back to the console and shook her head in confusion. "We've got another three minutes... and I have no idea why!"

"The decoder?" Martin suggested, as surprised as she by the sudden luck in their favor.

"Who knows? Just keep going-- that extra three minutes might be enough to get us away from the planet."

She checked everything twice, then three times. There was nothing in any of the readouts that offered an explanation. And the count was once again nearing the final minute. Frustrated, Lorraine stopped working and closed her eyes. There had to be a way to shut down the device. An insane idea flickered on the edges of her mind, refusing to go away. What did they have to lose? She grabbed a portable light from the console and turned it on before stuffing it into the front of her uniform. A brief struggle to remove an access panel tested the limits of her forbearance and she was relieved when it finally gave way. After a final glance at the countdown display, she slid inside the opening, gritting her teeth as her wounded shoulder scraped against the floor. The idea she had was insane... and they had absolutely nothing to lose by trying it.

Lorraine didn't have a religious faith to draw strength from, but a part of her soul uttered a silent prayer anyway as she selectively removed some of the circuitry from inside the console. The order in which she disconnected things was critical; the destruct device had been designed to circumvent such tampering and immediately detonate if anyone tried Lorraine's approach. But there was the nagging feeling in the back of her mind that something had been missed by the original engineers. If she did this just right, maybe...

The lights went out as the ship's power went off line, taking life support and gravity with it. She retrieved the hand-held lamp from her uniform and let it float free, illuminating the confined space she was working in. "Martin, take the keys out," she instructed. "Do you need a light?"

"No," he assured her as he retrieved one from the helm before floating over to where she was working. "Both at once or one at a time?"

Lorraine paused to consider his question. It didn't matter if both keys were inserted simultaneously to activate the self-destruct device, so maybe it wouldn't matter how they were removed either. "I don't think it matters, but I'm making this up as I go, so take your pick," she finally replied.

"Okay, they're out."

With that accomplished, she took the precaution of disconnecting the device from the rest of the console, then began sliding the pilfered circuitry back into place. "In a minute, we'll either be dead or have power back."

"Wait," he cautioned, "Let me shut down everything from the helm so we don't blow out the few engines that we've still got."

"Okay." She waited, listening to him flip switches and do everything he could from a powerless helm to shut down the ship's systems. Finally, he told her he was done and she finished her task.

The power stayed off.

The zero-gravity made it easy to slide out without putting further strain on her shoulder. Pushing off from the console she had just been inside, she floated over to join Martin at the helm, frowning slightly at the darkened panels. "We should have emergency power back by now."

He shook his head. "I overrode that, too. We're still moving away from the planet so the extra time until it comes on will put more distance between us."

Martin pulled the pair of keys from his uniform and opened his hand. They floated away in an eerie dance of zero-gravity, slowly moving beyond their hand-held lights. She pressed against him, wanting some contact while they waited through those last, agonizing minutes. He obliged her wish by placing his arm around her waist, being careful to avoid touching her wounded shoulder. He gripped the edge of the console with his other hand, anchoring them in place while turning them so they could see the self-destruct console.

"I hope this works," she said softly, looking askance at his human profile, made even more alien by the dim lighting. "How much longer?"

Before he could answer, the emergency lights came on and they squinted in the sudden brightness. The panel for the self-destruct device stayed dark while the two keys continued their waltz around the room.

"It looks like staying up all night to study the schematics of that thing was worth it after all," she said, unable to keep the fatigue and relief from her voice as she felt her muscles go limp.

"Meaning we traded one big problem for a multitude of smaller ones," Martin commented dryly as he released her and turned back to the helm. "But I'm not complaining."

*****

Alan and Anthony put Philip on one of the bunks that had been folded down to accept casualties and moved further back to check on Megan. One glance at his chest confirmed what Damian had feared from the moment he saw Philip crumple to the floor; the wound was fatal. The only surprise was that Philip was still alive, though barely.

His pain-filled eyes looked at Damian pleadingly, willing him to understand what he couldn't put into words. From where Philip had been hit, Damian knew that even breathing was laborious, speaking impossible. He dropped to his knees next to the bunk and took Philip's hand, speaking softly so the others wouldn't overhear. "Don't worry about her. We won't leave her alone."

That seemed to satisfy him because Damian felt a slight increase in pressure against his hand before Philip's eyes lost their focus. It was over.

Reluctantly, Damian got to his feet. There would be time for grief later. Right now, he had a responsibility to tend to the living. "How is she?" he asked Anthony, who was examining Megan's unconscious form.

"Alive. But there's no way to save her foot."

Damian grasped his shoulder, forcing the conversion technician to turn and look at him. "Then keep her unconscious until we figure out how to help her." He waited until Anthony gave him a hesitant nod, then released him to do his work.

Who else was injured? He glanced around and noticed William cradling Harmony's body in his arms. Several bodies lay on the floor nearby, testament to the effectiveness of Visitor firearms. Everyone else seemed to be suffering only from the discomfort of minor cuts and bruises, or an occasional sprained ankle or wrist most likely obtained in the mad scramble to reach the shuttle. Megan was the only one suffering from laser-induced wounds, which were the most difficult to treat. After all, what could be done to repair scorched flesh?

As was always the case with such battles, there seemed to be no pattern to the casualties. Death was indiscriminate in choosing its victims, and today had been a feast. Still, if Martin and Lorraine didn't get the ship far enough away, or manage to deactivate the device, the lives lost so far were only an appetizer.

*****

Elias and Julie sat in the back of the small fighter shuttle and peered out the rear windows. Mike was in the pilot's seat up front, doing his best to take them home. Julie watched the mothership pensively. Any minute now, it would explode and obscure her view of the rest of the fleet's retreat.

"Do you think they'll stop it?" Elias asked her quietly.

Julie shook her head, then glanced at her watch. "I don't know. From what Lorraine said about the time they had left, it should have already exploded."

Elias called over his shoulder, "Hey, Mike, why don't you try to radio them?"

"Because no one ever showed me how to use the radio in one of these things," the news cameraman replied sheepishly. "It's not like any of these labels are in English, either. Now, where is Diana's shuttle?"

"Forget it," Julie told him firmly. "She's probably already on board one of the other motherships right now. Let's just focus on getting home. If they do manage to stop the ship from exploding, we'll just have to wait for them to contact us."

*****

"How bad is it?"

Martin shook his head at Lorraine's question. "Not good. There's major structural damage, though the hull-breach has been contained to one sector. All but one engine are completely non-functional and the one that is working has such low output it's pretty much worthless-- I took it offline.. Half of the computer systems aren't responding, and the ones that are don't appear to be very reliable." He moved to another console and flipped some switches. "We don't have enough battery power to restore gravity and maintain life support. The good news is that we still have life support, thanks to the backup systems."

"What about helm control?"

"It's sluggish, but I've got us headed back towards the planet. Any luck?"

Lorraine frowned at the console she was working at. "Not so far." She looked over her shoulder. "Do you think they know how to operate the radio?"

"I don't know. I never showed him specifically, but Donovan learned to pilot our shuttles just by watching me, so I'd expect he paid attention to everything else I did. Keep trying to reach them. We need the help." Martin sighed quietly and pushed himself away from the helm towards an emergency medical kit stored nearby. Retrieving it, he went next to Lorraine.

"Since it looks like we're going to live for the time being, we may as well make you more comfortable," he told her gently.

She flinched when he cut through her uniform and gently probed the edges of the wound. "How deep is it?"

"I've seen worse. I'm no expert, but I think you'll be okay once this heals." Martin covered the charred flesh and pseudoskin with a temporary bandage and bound her arm in a sling. His efforts fell far short of what she needed, he knew, but at least the measures would help control the pain that came from moving the wounded limb.

"Thank you."

"I wish I could do more," he told her. Until they had reinforcements to guard them from attack, he didn't dare risk the level of concentration needed to put her into a pain-controlling trance.

A loud noise made both of them turn toward the damaged doors, firearms ready.

"Do you have any of the toxin with you?" Lorraine asked him in a hushed voice. "It might help keep the corridor secure."

"Is anyone alive in there?" a voice called through the doors. The banging changed to a low, grating noise as strong arms worked to open the small crack between the door panels and grant entry to Master Control.

"Identify yourself!" Martin called, indicating with his hand where he wanted Lorraine to go. Cautiously, they moved into position on either side of the door while Martin reached inside his uniform for a packet of red dust.

"Private Laura, sir. We weren't able to transfer out so we figured you could probably use some help."

Martin and Lorraine exchanged a look of relief that went beyond words as Martin answered, "You figured correctly."

The doors parted at last, admitting Laura and four other fifth columnists, all of whom were nursing minor bruises obtained from fighting their way to Master Control. In addition, Laura's shoulder appeared to be dislocated.

"Sir," she said, smiling shyly at him. "It's good to see you."

"Likewise, believe me." None of the five were very high in rank but their initiative in coming to help more than made up for their youth and lack of experience. He turned his attention to the other columnists. "Do any of you feel qualified to fix that door?"

"Zachary and I are, sir." The woman paused, as if in awe of the leader of the fifth column. "I'm Valerie, sir."

"Good, because as you've already seen, it's somewhat of a problem." His gaze fell on the other two columnists he hadn't met before. "And you are?"

"Eileen and Isaac, sir," the woman responded. "I'm trained in cryogenics."

Isaac finally found his voice. "I'm in security... but I've been teaching myself about the computer systems."

Lorraine nodded knowingly and glanced at Martin. "Another refugee from the boredom of a career in security." Turning back to Isaac, she added, "You're about to get some hands-on experience, Isaac, because just about every system on this ship is having problems. You can work with me."

"First things first," Martin cut in. "Other than Laura, do any of you have injuries that need to be treated?" When they indicated no, he was relieved. "Okay. Go ahead and start on the door. Isaac, I want you to help brace Laura. Let's get that shoulder taken care of."

Laura's trusting look faltered a moment, giving way to apprehension. The pain she was in now was quite sufficient, and she had no desire to have it increased.

Martin saw her reaction and tried to reassure her. "I've done this before; trust me."

"Isaac, hold on to the edge of the bulkhead, there, and put your arm around her waist."

Martin waited for them to do as he had instructed, then took Laura's arm in his hand as he positioned himself. "This will hurt, but only for a moment. Ready?"

She nodded sharply once and closed her eyes.

Martin nodded to Isaac, then deftly moved her arm. The bone of her upper arm slipped back into the joint with a sickening pop.

Laura grimaced at the pain, then opened her eyes cautiously before flexing the fingers of her hand. "Thank you."

"Are you up to piloting a shuttle?" Martin pointed to the viewport when she just looked at him in surprise. "Donovan's out there somewhere, and it appears that he doesn't know how to use the shuttle's radio. Either that, or our own communications systems aren't working properly. But he'll recognize you and follow you back. We're going to need them to help coordinate what's going on down on the surface."

"I'll find him," Laura announced firmly as she propelled herself towards the exit that led to the emergency shuttles.

"Now for you," Martin said, as he turned his attention to Lorraine. She had already gone back to work, trying to ignore the effects of injury and fatigue. It didn't really surprise him; Lorraine had always been the type to put duty before personal concerns. He didn't think she'd object, though, to a bit of help with pain control.

*****

Caleb leaned against the bulkhead and closed his eyes, trying to distance himself from the carnage around him. His efforts were hampered by the knowledge that his son Elias was still on board the mothership.... There was no way to know if Elias had survived the attempted takeover, or if the fifth column would be able to prevent the self-destruct device from being activated.

He sighed heavily. There were so many things he wished he'd done differently with his youngest son. Too many years had been wasted, too many words left unspoken. Caleb knew it wasn't really Elias's fault that his mother had died giving birth to him, but the loss of a beloved wife wasn't easily forgotten... and Caleb knew that, if he were honest with himself, the loss of his wife had always tinged his relationship with his son. He'd tried to move past the grief, and he'd done his best to raise both boys to be hard workers. Ben had exceeded all expectations and enrolled in medical school with the unspoken goal of preventing other women from meeting the same fate as his own mother. Ben's death in the earliest stages of the war had been devastating. The thought of losing Elias as well, only days after they had broken through the barriers that separated them, was more than he could bear. The fact that he was filled with pride at Elias's dedication to the war effort was little comfort.

"We need to start planning for when we get back."

Caleb shook off his reverie and turned to the source of the voice. He groped for a name and hoped he was correct in thinking this was Damian. A moment later, what the Visitor had said finally penetrated enough for him to protest. "I'm not in charge of anything. Julie and Mike are..." He let the sentence die away unfinished. The resistance leaders were on the mothership, leaving the remaining rebels without any leadership. Why hadn't any of them considered _that_ during their planning?

"Martin said you were," Damian told him.

Caleb shook his head. "I'm no leader."

Damian persisted. "Martin thinks otherwise. For now, we need to assume that we'll be without the aid of Ham Tyler's group. Our top priorities are treating the wounded, keeping the base secure, and seeing that the bodies are tended to. From what I can tell, only Megan's injury could be life-threatening. Ham's group may also have casualties when --and if --they get back."

"Seems to me like you should be the one giving orders. I'm just a factory worker," Caleb protested.

Damian shook his head. "Your people will listen better to another human, and if you don't take charge, Ham Tyler might. He may know more, but Martin said you're the one who has everyone's respect, not Ham Tyler."

Caleb shrugged helplessly, silently impressed at Martin's quick assessment of both the mixed feelings Ham Tyler always evoked in the human rebels and the distrust many still had of the fifth columnists who claimed to be allies. "You've got me there." He sighed heavily and looked around the cabin, slowly shaking his head at the sight of so many dead. "We'll need to start digging graves. It's going to take some time doing it by hand, but we don't have much choice the way I see it."

He looked to Damian for an opinion, but the Visitor just looked back at him with a steady gaze, forcing him to assume the mantle of leadership and make at least one decision on his own. Caleb sighed again then straightened up, determined to do his best in the new role that had been thrust upon him without warning. "Julie's been our doctor, but she's obviously not here. You got anyone with you who has medical training? Or do we pass out bandages and hope for the best?" he asked Damian.

The Visitor indicated Anthony, who was still tending to Megan. "Anthony, but I think our best resource for treating your people will be Kim."

"Okay." Caleb looked sideways at the Visitor. "I'm counting on you to help me out." Damian smiled slightly and nodded, giving Caleb the feeling that somehow, things were going to be all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I love Philip, too. His death was planned from the beginning, and then he went and insisted on sticking around longer and being even more important to Kim and the whole storyline. It's not fair. I hate it, too. But this is a war and good people die.


	2. Kevin

"There's another shuttle."

Elias's voice shattered the tense silence that had filled the shuttle for the last... how long had it been?... Julie glanced at her watch and realized it had been only been a fraction of a minute since she had last checked the time.

Elias looked intently at her, waiting for the resistance leader to once again guide them.

_"Trust yourself as much as the rest of us trust you."_

Julie closed her eyes, remembering Ruby's words to her months ago. Julie had been struggling to fix a leaking pipe in their underground hideaway and had succeeded only in getting herself soaked, smashing her knuckles, and aggravating her still-healing hip --injured when Caleb's son and Elias's brother Ben had been fatally wounded in a heist from a hospital laboratory.

Julie's fingers groped for the scar beneath the fabric of her Visitor uniform. The physical wound had healed long ago, but the burdens of command had been slowly corroding the fiber of her soul, much as rust nibbled at the hulls of sunken ships.... or old, leaking pipes.

Ruby had happened upon her just then, and given Julie a much-needed hug while the young, blonde woman vented her frustrations. "I'm supposed to be a scientist. A doctor! Not a plumber or some kind of rebel. You all look at me like I know what to do!"

"And you're just as lost and scared as we are," Ruby had observed, patting her back. "I'll tell you why we all look to you. Because you're a natural. A natural leader."

Julie had pulled back, shaking her head in firm protest. "Oh, I don't feel that."

Ruby had smiled. "You don't have to. Just trust yourself as much as the rest of us trust you."

"And if I can't?"

Ruby had shrugged her shoulders and smiled sympathetically. "Fake it. We won't know the difference."

She'd relied on that advice many times since that day. They'd sustained her through Diana's torture, Ruby's untimely death, other raids, other battles... and finally, this V-day assault on the L.A. mothership.

Shrugging off her reverie, Julie peered at the approaching shuttle. Space was so disorienting. Distance, size, and relative direction were impossible to estimate without the reference points of Earth's terrain and gravity. The shuttle was coming towards them from an odd angle, and it was impossible to tell if it had originated from the L.A. mothership or from another vessel in the Visitor fleet. Were the occupants Martin and Lorraine, fleeing a doomed craft? Diana, seeking final revenge? Or perhaps a routine patrol out to collect refugees who had been delayed fleeing the planet?

"Should we let them catch up?" Elias prodded, waiting for her to make a command decision.

_"Fake it. We won't know the difference."_

Julie bit her lip. "Yes."

"You sure?" Donovan asked as he brought them to a stop.

No! Julie nodded her head silently, determined to keep faking confidence. "Yes."

Soon, she was able to see the pilot. A stranger. "Mike...." She started violently as Donovan's hand brushed her shoulder. She hadn't heard him leave the controls to join her and Elias in the rear of the craft.

"Laura!" Donovan waved to the fifth columnist and smiled down at Julie. "She's a friend," he added before looking back towards the Visitor.

A frustrating pantomime between the Visitor and the newsman ensued. Donovan tried to make Laura understand he didn't know how to operate the communications equipment while Laura tried to give him directions to open a channel. Julie's gaze darted between the two, her concentration intent. Laura kept tracing a pattern in the air. Julie could see her mouth moving, though her voice didn't carry across the vacuum of space. Comprehension dawned and Julie ducked past Mike and scanned the controls in the pilot's post. There was a button with a symbol matching the pattern Laura had patiently repeated. She pressed it and Laura's voice filled the shuttle. "Cross your arms in front of you when you can hear me," Laura kept repeating.

Mike did as she asked and nodded vehemently as his face broke in to a wide grin.

Julie heard Laura's sigh of relief and felt the tension drain from her own body when Laura announced that the self-destruct device had been deactivated. She closed her eyes and sank into the co-pilot's chair.

We won.

She heard the rustle of fabric as Mike sat down next to her and busied himself with following Laura's steady stream of directions. She tuned out the conversation, clinging instead to the two words that kept echoing in her mind: We won. We won.

Julie covered her face in her hands and sighed. Her soul carried her to a place that was beyond joy, beyond exhaustion… beyond feeling.

*****

"I'll never leave you," Kim lied to the child who lay sleeping in her arms. She knew that she'd leave her children in an instant if it meant protecting them from harm. Her mind drifted back to a time when she'd heard one of the so-called Schindler Jews speak of his experiences during the Holocaust. He'd told how his mother had smuggled him _into_ a concentration camp, to buy him one more day of life. That was how success was measured then, by days. Another day of life meant a day of success. The future--tomorrow--was abstract, something they dared not think of. Kim had listened to that, trying to fathom what it was like to truly live one day at a time, knowing that at any moment, your life could be ruthlessly cut short without warning… and without cause. She'd hoped she'd never be able to understand what that felt like, but now she understood only too well. She would do anything-- _anything_ \--to buy her children one more day of life in this war-torn reality they now lived in.

What would the end be like? Would there be a blinding flash of light as the mothership exploded, followed in a micro-second by oblivion? Would there be any warning at all? Or would the world keep turning, forcing her to plod onward, struggling towards a future she dared not contemplate?

What she hadn't anticipated, or even considered when listening to the Holocaust survivor speak of his experiences, was how emotionally exhausting it was to wait. Rather than living in terror, with adrenaline pumping through her circulatory system, she lived in detached fear. It was the waiting that was making her feel old. To act was to feel empowered, to at least have the illusion of control over her fate. Waiting only made her feel helpless… and tired.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, shifting her weight on the bed so she could draw the rumpled blankets up over her legs. Waiting made her feel cold, too. Maybe it was the chill of inactivity, or maybe the psychological chill of looming death. Regardless, she was cold.

"Kim?" Jackie's voice followed the knock at the door.

"Come in," Kim called softly, not wanting to wake the babies.

Jackie opened the door gently and leaned in, holding on to the door jamb for support. Her face was drawn, and the worried resignation in her eyes made the temperature in the room drop ten degrees.

Their eyes locked, one asking, the other avoiding the question. Finally, Jackie sighed and looked at the floor, chewing on her lower lip for a moment before finally speaking. "The shuttle's back."

She raised her eyes to look at Kim again. "I mean it should be down by now. Sam just spotted it a minute ago, and it won't take it long to get here."

They were empty words that only served to fill the silence while avoiding the real issue: who had survived. It didn't matter which of the sentries on duty had first seen the shuttle, or that it was in the process of landing instead of being already at rest on the ground outside. What mattered was that some of their friends had certainly died… and the grieving would begin.

Kim concluded that all of the oxygen must have left the room, because she couldn't breathe.

Jackie gestured towards the sleeping infants. "Sarah can stay with them while we go outside," she suggested. Sarah was one of the teenagers at the compound and a very likable young woman. She'd shown a maturity beyond her years, in Jackie's opinion, in the way she had set aside her own angst to help keep the young children comforted and occupied while their parents went to war.

Kim laid Katherine on the bed and slowly got up. Everything seemed surreal. She shuddered and hugged herself tightly, trying to get warm. Slowly, she placed her hand in Jackie's outstretched fingers. The contact felt good. It anchored her, reassured her. With a wan smile, Kim nodded at her friend, and together, they headed outside.

*****

"We're almost down," Alan said softly as he watched Anthony check Megan's breathing one more time.

Anthony glanced up and nodded as he reached for the latches holding the bunk in place. "Let's take her out first." Raising his voice, he called, "Damian?"

Damian quickly joined them. Once Anthony saw that Alan and Damian had a firm hold of Megan's bunk, he released the final catch. Carefully, the men maneuvered her bunk-become-stretcher to the exit ramp and waited impatiently for it to open.

"Has there been any word from the mothership?" Anthony asked. He'd been so focused on Megan that he had tuned out all extraneous conversation.

Damian shook his head. "Drew said there has been no transmission of any kind." He sighed. "We should have heard something by now."

"So what happens to us now?" Alan asked, switching to Sirian and lowering his voice so he could give free voice to his concerns.

"We're going to have a lot of clean-up work to do. After that…" Damian shrugged. "We'll just have to see how things go." When he saw how little his words did to comfort Alan, he added, "Don't discount Kim, though. Jackie, too."

As the ramp opened, they were able to see the growing crowd gathering outside the shuttle. Hanging back from the others, Kim and Jackie were standing by the door to the main building, watching anxiously. "Are you going to tell them?" Anthony asked, switching to English again.

Damian didn't have to ask what Anthony was talking about. Philip's death was difficult for all of them and the friendship the slain columnist had shared with Kim and Jackie was obvious. He sighed humanly and nodded, taking a firmer hold of Megan's stretcher. "Later. Our first responsibility is to the living."

*****

The relief Kim felt upon seeing familiar faces exiting the shuttle quickly turned to concern when she noticed the stretcher they carried between them. "Megan!" she whispered under her breath. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for bad news. She'd known this could happen. Fighting her natural reactions, Kim closed her eyes and took another deep breath. _Think! The fact that Megan was being unloaded first indicated she was wounded, not dead. Response?_ Her mind struggled with the options. _Treatment._ She touched Jackie's arm. "Time to pretend we're doctors," she said before ducking inside.

The makeshift infirmary helped to ground her in the present. This was a laboratory, as familiar to her as her own bedroom. Yes, it was a laboratory with patients posing as experiments and medicines for reagents, but it was a laboratory nonetheless. All she had to do was follow the proper protocols and she'd be fine.

 _Sterility._ She went to the sink and adjusted the water so it was as hot as she could tolerate. "Let's split the room in two. That half for humans, this half for Visitors," Kim said. "When Ham's group gets back, we'll need more room over there, but for now…"

"Sounds good," Jackie agreed, trying to hide her unease behind a front of confidence. This was absurd! First an emergency Cesarean, now… emergency room first aid. "Just tell me how you want me to help."

"Put her over there." Kim indicated the cot with a tilt of her head when the fifth columnists entered with Megan's stretcher as she accepted paper towels from Jackie. _Procedure_. She forced herself to slow down and thoroughly remove all of the moisture from her skin. As frustrating as the delay was, long experience had taught Kim that it was impossible to don protective gloves while her hands were wet. True, she could _get_ them on, but they never felt right. The fingers tended to catch on the moisture and stretch uncomfortably and she'd invariably strip them off again. It was a waste of perfectly good gloves, so she forced herself to dry her hands, even when time was short.

The wrist of the second glove gave a satisfying snap as she pulled it into place. She flexed her fingers, testing the fit and taking comfort in the familiar feeling. It was likely that it was the only thing in her entire day that would be normal, familiar, or even remotely routine.

"Any other casualties?" Jackie asked softly.

"Nothing immediately urgent." Anthony worded his answer carefully. He knew Jackie was inquiring about injuries that might need immediate treatment… not fatalities. He glanced at Damian, who met his gaze. There was silent agreement at their relief for the brief delay in sharing the news of Philip's death.

"What happened?" Kim asked quietly as she began to cut away the leg of Megan's uniform with a pair of scissors. She was working on the fabric that covered Megan's thigh. Below her knee, Megan's leg was encased in melted fabric and a charred boot that hinted at the extreme damage inflicted on the fragile tissues they hid beneath them. She had no idea how she was supposed to treat such a serious injury.

"Laser rifle," was Damian's terse reply. "Just as she was getting ready to board."

"Did anyone get a chance to grab a better medical kit?" Kim asked before chewing her lip. She was not at all qualified to properly deal with Megan's injury, but she knew that the responsibility still rested on her shoulders.

"Right here," Drew said, holding it up as he entered the room.

Jackie put a cart near Megan's gurney and indicated to Drew that he should set the case on it. He did so, then quickly tripped the catch and opened the lid.

Anthony spoke quietly. "I've been keeping her unconscious until we figure out what to do, if anything."

"What do you mean, if anything?" Kim queried sharply, looking up from her work to glance from one worried face to another.

"What can be done?" Anthony asked softly.

Kim was still confused, and she looked at each of them intently, shaking her head slightly.

Damian finally spoke. His voice was low, but contrasted sharply with the long, painful silence that had filled the room with tension. "Normally, euthanasia would be performed."

"Euthanasia?!" Jackie stammered. "That's hardly a mortal wound!" She turned to Kim, who had grown even more pale than normal.

"Of course," Kim whispered, closing her eyes and turning away for a moment, her head bowed. "I should have realized."

"Realized what?" Jackie waited impatiently for an explanation. "Kim!"

Kim reluctantly raised her eyes to look at Jackie. "We can't save her foot. Why treat someone who won't make a full recovery? It's a waste of resources."

"A _waste_ of _resources_!? Have you lost your mind?" Jackie demanded. "Haven't you guys ever heard of prosthetics? My God, losing a foot hardly signifies the end of a productive life," Jackie ranted, outraged that anyone would even consider letting Megan follow the "honorable" path.

"No. But it means that when Megan wakes up and realizes her foot has been amputated- which is the only course of action I see- she's going to feel compelled to do the honorable thing… and we need to be prepared for that."

"So we deal with it," Jackie was matter-of-fact.

"There's more," Kim warned.

Jackie's look was incredulous. How could there possibly be more to consider? Her gaze became stern, questioning, as she waited for Kim to explain.

"She can never go home."

"What were the odds anyway?" Jackie countered, ignoring Drew's downcast expression.

"But now, even the possibility will be lost, and that's no small thing," Kim said quietly. She hated war; she hated what it did to people. And most of all, she hated how it forced her to make decisions for another that she should never be asked to make. "We'll deal with that later."

Anthony stood across the table from her, waiting for directions. Why did everyone always defer to her, Kim wondered with the least-occupied part of her mind. "Keep her under the anesthesia. Do you have enough of a supply to do that?"

Anthony nodded.

"What about pain management? Do we have enough of what we need to get her through the first couple of weeks of recovery?"

Again the reluctant nod. Kim knew his hesitation was due to inexperience with field surgery, and not the belief that Megan should be put to death. "Okay." Kim motioned for Jackie to wheel the cart bearing a tray of surgical instruments over to the bed. "Anthony, I want you to keep a close watch on her vital signs. Let me know if anything changes."

She straightened up and turned to the columnists who were waiting anxiously by the door. "The rest of you should leave. There's no need for you to watch. We'll deal with the rest of the injuries as soon as we're done here."

She didn't wait for them to answer or obey. Megan needed treatment, and they'd wasted enough time already. "Jackie, for now, I want you to help me get these layers of uniform and pseudoskin off and then hand me instruments as I call for them. The first thing we need to do is get down to her skin and determine exactly where healthy tissue is located. We'll wing it from there."

Jackie shrugged in acquiescence. "You're the doctor."

"That's not funny," Kim said sharply, looking up with a piercing gaze.

"I wasn't joking."

They worked in silence for several minutes as Kim slowly manipulated her way through layers of burnt fabric and flesh. For the soft tissue dissection, she relied primarily on the scalpels Julie had stolen from a hospital during one of their equipment raids. When it came time to sever the destroyed bones, however, Kim was thankful she had the Visitor medical kit to turn to rather than resorting to the tried-and-true saw. Jackie closed her eyes for that part, and even Anthony looked away, leaving Kim as the sole witness to the moment that symbolically changed Megan's life forever.

Once the cutting was complete, Kim found it easier to continue. She was meticulous in her effort to smooth all of the rough edges from the truncated bone and tie off the larger blood vessels that had temporarily been sealed with clamps. After that, it was just a matter of arranging the remaining flaps of muscle and skin so they formed a smooth, rounded stump and stitching them into place. Kim knew that in all probability, Megan would need to undergo a second round of surgery to prepare her body for a prosthesis, but high-quality work now would minimize the efforts needed later.

*****

"What now?" Jackie asked as Kim put the last bandage in place and fought back a yawn.

"We keep her comfortable and get ready for the next wave of casualties," Kim answered, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Ham's group should be back soon."

"What do we do with that?" Jackie gestured uncomfortably at the charred appendage Kim had set aside and covered with a cloth. "We can't just throw it out…. it doesn't seem right."

Kim nodded and looked at the floor, peeling off her gloves as an after-thought. "We're going to have plenty of fatalities today. I vote for adding that to the mass grave we'll have to dig later today or tomorrow." Her voice was quiet and grew even softer when she tossed her inside-out gloves into the biohazardous waste bin, then she looked up at Anthony. "You can tell me now."

He didn't pretend to misunderstand. Kim was far too perceptive to not have noticed they were avoiding telling her something. "Philip."

"Damn it!" Kim swore under her breath. She closed her eyes and gasped for air, leaning on Megan's bed for support as she fought for control over her reaction. She'd _known_. Either that, or the fear had been so great it had guised itself as a premonition. Either way…Anthony's statement only confirmed what her heart had known all morning. Either way, it hurt.

"Come sit down."

Jackie's tearful voice barely registered, but the tug on her arm was unyielding. Kim allowed herself to be led to an old, battered couch and felt her legs give out as she reached it. She felt Jackie pull her close and she closed her eyes, letting Jackie hold her to her chest as she would a child. Jackie stroked her hair and murmured reassurance in a grief-stricken voice while rocking her gently, encouraging the healing flood of tears to begin.

*****

Martin closed his eyes and let himself relax for a moment. It would be so easy to simply drift off to sleep as he hung suspended in front of the security console. They still didn't have the engines repaired, and the battery power was too precious to waste on generating a synthetic gravitational force. Unfortunately, given his current state of exhaustion, he found the weightless sensation very conducive to sleep.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to open his eyes and focus on the task at hand. "What have you found so far?" he asked Lorraine.

"The computers are very slow. I've had to redirect power to them."

"From where?" The inquiry stemmed more out of curiosity than concern. He trusted Lorraine's judgement.

"Everything I thought we could spare: heating, ventilation, navigation, to name a few. We're far enough out we can afford to drift for a time. We weren't moving that fast when I shut it down."

"How low will the temperature drop?"

"Low enough to put most of the crew into hibernation." She gave him a tired half-smile. "They'll cause less trouble that way. But we'll need the vests soon. I've already checked, and we have enough here for all of us and the humans, assuming Laura can find them."

He nodded acknowledgement and glanced at Isaac. The young crew member seemed visibly tense and Martin forced gentleness into his tone when he spoke to him. "Have you made any progress with the diagnostics?"

"I can't make sense of it. It's almost like the computers were sabotaged. Whenever I try to cross-reference data, all I get is gibberish." He lowered his gaze, unable to look the fifth column leader in the eye. "Maybe you should have someone else do this."

"Absolutely not," Martin scolded. "Don't chastise yourself. We were all inexperienced at one time, even Lorraine."

Lorraine glanced warily at him, stunned at Martin's display of gentle humor. Though she'd glimpsed that side of him on rare occasions, it had always been when they were alone. She'd never seen him act like that in front of his crew. And the quick look he gave her before turning back to Isaac indicated he knew exactly why she was surprised.

"The computers _were_ sabotaged," Martin continued. "but only non-essential systems should be affected. For now, just concentrate on determining what went wrong with the communications systems. Damage there should be related to the abuse the ship took pulling away from Earth. If we're lucky, repairs will be straightforward. At the very least, we need to get internal communications back on line as soon as possible." He sighed and closed his eyes. "I think things would have been easier if the ship _had_ blown up."

Martin's muttered comment wasn't meant for anyone else's ears, but Lorraine heard him anyway. Concerned, she glided over to him and steadied herself by holding onto the lip of the security console. "Are you all right?" she murmured.

"Are any of us?" He sighed and rubbed his eyes in tired frustration. "I'm just tired."

"It's more than that," Lorraine persisted, keeping her voice low. "You've changed since you've been on the surface."

"For the better, I hope." He smiled gently at her and cupped her cheek in his hand. "A lot has happened. How's the arm?"

"Sore. I'd get more done if I could use it," she said wistfully. "The zero-g helps, though. I'm too nauseated to think about being in pain."

"Better leave it in the sling for now… at least until you get proper treatment."

"I think I'm going to be sick." Donovan's voice filled the room. Martin watched bemused as Donovan cautiously launched himself forward from the still-in-repair door and clumsily caught hold of the helm's chair to stop.

"The sooner we get the engines repaired, the sooner we'll get the gravity back on," Lorraine told him, setting aside her concern for Martin as she returned to the tasks at hand.

"How bad off are we?" Elias asked at the very moment Julie inquired about the location of the first-aid supplies.

"Bad and over there on the wall," Martin answered and pointed out the panel to Julie. Unlike Mike, the sensation of free-fall didn't seem to be making her or Elias ill, but Martin wasn't sure he was really able to judge that very accurately; human expressions were still a mystery on occasion.

"What's the trick to sticking to the floor?" Elias asked, noting that Lorraine and several of the others had their feet firmly planted, despite the sensation of weightlessness. Martin, however, appeared content to float free, moving from console to console with practiced ease.

"Magnetic soles," Martin explained, then launched himself towards the cabinet that contained extra pairs. He sent a pair floating towards Elias, then did the same for Julie and Mike before retrieving some vests from a separate compartment in the wall and sending them to their recipients in the same manner as the magnets.. "You'll want these soon, too. It's going to get VERY cold in here." He then took his own advice and donned one over the top of his uniform.

Elias shrugged. "Seems okay to me." He was far more interested in strapping the magnetic plates to his boots and experimenting with walking on the walls and ceiling than discussion of a coming chill. He was also sweating mightily beneath the heavy fabric of the uniform he wore and couldn't imagine being cold anytime soon.

"Back to business," Mike said, swallowing with effort. He closed his eyes and concentrated on not getting sick. "Is anything on this rust bucket still working?"

"The emergency power supply, for now, and it won't last more than a few hours," Martin supplied grimly. "All of the engines are off-line and damaged to some extent- I won't know how much until I get down there. Internal communications between the different systems are off-line, too. There's certain to be major structural damage from our rapid departure, but again, I don't know how extensive it is yet."

"How many engines do we need for things to function normally?" Julie inquired quietly. In her hands, she held some strips of cloth bandages that she was carefully working into knots the size of walnuts.

"Two minimum," Martin answered automatically as he moved to yet another console and flipped more switches.

"Don't you have any redundancy built into these things?" Elias chipped in from the ceiling where he was currently strolling.

"Of course we do!" Lorraine snapped. "But every time one failed, we had to rely on the next in line to get us away from your planet, so all eight were damaged."

"What's the plan?" Donovan asked quietly, his eyes still closed. Damn the nausea!

"I need to get down there and inspect them manually while they keep working on repairs up here. We'll know better where we stand, and how to best approach this, once we know if there is a chance of getting them repaired before we lose power altogether. Think you're up to the trip?"

"I'm in. We won't be any help up here, but I'd think we're qualified to cover your back while you work. --What's this, a new fashion statement?" Mike's tone changed as Julie tied the knotted bandages around his wrists, making them snug enough so the knot of each bandage dug into his inner wrist.

"It may help with the nausea," she explained before turning her attention to Martin. "How much resistance do you expect we'll encounter on the way?"

Martin shook his head. "I have no idea how far the red dust infiltrated into the systems. Add to that the loss of communications, the potential for the crew to be confused and panicked…."

"We could be fighting all the way," Donovan interjected, "or never see a live body outside this room."

"The former is far more likely," Martin warned. "And a party of four is hardly enough for this venture, but all we can spare."

"We made it this far. Maybe the worst is behind us." Donovan forced optimism into his voice as he donned the vest Martin had given him. "Elias, the man said you'd want that vest, and I think you'd do well to trust his advice." He fingered some buttons that were buried in the hem. "What's this?"

"Temperature controls. You may not need it, but the vests are self-heating when activated." Martin floated over to Donovan and showed him the settings. "On, off, warmer, colder. We've already dropped the temperature outside of master control to save power, and the ship's climate is going to quickly approach the freezing point of water."

"Not below? Space is colder than that, isn't it?"

Martin nodded, glad that Donovan was taking his warnings of what they faced seriously. "As long as we can spare the power, we'll keep it above freezing. I'd rather not kill the entire crew if we can avoid it."

Mike's expression brightened, as realization of Martin's other motive dawned, "But it will still be cold enough for them to drop into hibernation, right?"

Julie wasn't so optimistic. "If we can have vests, then so can they. Just like crew members may be using respirators to avoid inhaling the red dust."

Martin nodded at both of them. "Still, we'll cut down on their numbers significantly. The downside will be that their metabolisms will slow as well, so someone near hibernation may not succumb as quickly to the toxin's effects."

"Making them doubly dangerous. I hear you," Mike fired back, anxious to _do_ something rather than just stand back and watch helplessly. "Lead on."

"Lorraine, you're in charge," Martin said as he forced open the door. Zachary and Valerie had finished doing what they could with their limited resources and had it functioning somewhat normally, though with extra effort required. He pulled a hand-held communicator out of his vest. "I'll check in periodically. Use the second secure channel." Seeing Lorraine's nod of acknowledgment, he took a deep breath and launched himself into the corridor, heading towards the access to the same service tunnels he'd used earlier. How much longer could their luck continue to hold?

*****

Anthony went outside and looked around for a moment before spotting Caleb and Damian. The two men were standing a short distance from the main building and splitting their attention between keeping watch over the main road into the base and talking with each other. The breeze was blowing the wrong way for Anthony to make out what they were saying. In the distance, Anthony could see the grave-digging crew hard at work. So far, the group was comprised of Alan and three humans who had escaped the assault on the mothership unscathed. Once Ham's group returned, they'd take a rest and allow a second crew to take a turn digging up the rocky soil. Drew was still in the shuttle, Anthony knew, monitoring the radio for any word from the mothership. In one of the secondary buildings, he heard the sound of a circular saw, though he didn't know what it was. Some of the older teens were helping a couple of adults turn wood scraps into makeshift coffins. It remained to be seen if the wood supply would hold out, but for now, the intent was to give the dead as dignified a burial as possible.

"How is she?" Caleb's dark brow was furrowed with genuine concern as he turned towards the approaching Visitor.

"We had to amputate." Anthony glanced at Damian, knowing he'd understand. "It's up to Megan now."

Damian nodded and sighed, knowing the time had come for him to break the dreaded news of Philip's death. "I'd better go tell Kim."

"She already knows- she figured out something was wrong and I had to tell her. Jackie's with her," he assured Damian before changing the subject. "Any word from the mothership?"

Caleb shook his head. "Not yet. And we're still waiting…What the blazes?" he exclaimed as they watched a pickup truck careen down the road towards them, leading a caravan of battered vehicles full of rowdy, smiling resistance members. Many of them were waving dripping bottles of champagne. Others had to settle for brandishing their firearms as they whooped and hollered. Piled amongst them were those that were either too drunk or too seriously wounded to participate in the victory dance.

The lead truck turned sharply and jerked to a stop, almost dumping two of the occupants over the tailgate in the process. That set off a chain of foul-mouthed comments between the occupants and the driver, followed by merciless teasing by the passengers in the next vehicle in line.

Caleb shook his head in dismay. "Now that's just what we need," he growled. "How the hell are we supposed to get anything done when they're too smashed to stand on their own two feet? They don't need a leader, they need a babysitter!" Raising his voice, he hollered over the din. "Do you folks think you might stop partying long enough to tend to the dead and dying?"

A hush fell over the crowd, though a few giggled and elbowed each other like kindergartners in trouble for cutting in line. "That's more like it!" he said, lowering his voice somewhat. "Now, I want you to park the booze by that tree over there and get your butts inside for a meeting. We've got a lot to talk about, and no time for this nonsense. Those seriously wounded get taken to the infirmary. Those of you who can wait, I know you're hurting, but we'll get to you as soon as we can. Plant yourselves in the hallway and we'll do what we can to keep you comfortable."

Caleb waited for them to do as they'd been told, but they seemed frozen in place. "MOVE!" he bellowed.

The rebels jumped to obey, and most had the good sense to look contrite. He heard a couple of requests for a stretcher and turned to ask Damian about using the bunks from the shuttle. He found empty air beside him and saw that Damian and Anthony were already in the process of handing bunks out of the shuttle hatch.

"You might make it in this business after all," a voice said to his left. Caleb spun on his heel and saw Ham Tyler looking at him with a fleeting half-smirk that was Ham's version of a smile. Tyler jerked a thumb in the direction of the Visitors. "But I wouldn't let any lizards carry the wounded --might make 'em hungry."

"Keep talking like that and you'll BE one of the wounded if you aren't careful."

"Me in danger from this group?" Ham snorted at the thought. "They can barely stand up." Not wanting to joust with Caleb any longer, he changed the subject. "Any word from the ship?"

Caleb shook his head. "To be honest, I don't think we're going to hear from them." He sighed, pushing thoughts of Elias to the side. "So what do we do now?"

"What you've been doing," Ham shrugged. "Better not plan on going home any time soon. Downtown L.A.'s a mess. With their puppet strings cut, the LAPD's brass is worthless. Any officer worth his badge has enough sense to know they need organization to stop the riots."

"Riots?"

Ham's eyebrow went up at Caleb's apparent surprise. "What'd you expect? A parade? Martial law was just replaced by NO law." He glanced over at the subdued by happy resistance fighters. "Even if they were sober, there aren't enough of them to do anything about it. Best to sit tight here until the rioters drink themselves into a stupor or kill each other off. Chris and I will take the guard posts out front. If any trouble heads this way, we'll convince them to go somewhere else."

Caleb watched Ham motion to his partner and saunter towards the driveway leading into the resistance headquarters. It didn't take much imagination to figure out exactly what methods Ham would use to "convince" trespassers they'd be smart to go elsewhere. But if what Ham said about downtown L.A. was true -- and Caleb didn't doubt that it was --then Ham and Chris were right to take precautions. The fact that it would keep them away from the fifth columnists was a bonus.

*****

"Where's my son? Need to see him," the man being carried into the infirmary managed to gasp.

Kim averted her eyes momentarily from his charred abdomen. How he had managed to stay alive this long was a mystery in itself. "Is anyone getting his son?" she asked. The men carrying the mortally wounded man looked at her blankly, as if the thought of really bringing the youth in to see his father had never occurred to them. Exasperated, Kim took the man's hand in her own. "What's his name?"

"Kevin…" he shuddered violently. "Kevin Fox."

"I need blankets over here! Bring an IV, morphine," Kim snapped over her shoulder before turning back to her latest charge. "What's your name?"

"George."

"You." Kim's eyes landed on one of the stretcher-bearers who hadn't moved quickly enough to escape her attention. "Fetch his son. Get him up here as fast as you can." When she saw hesitation in his face, she felt her temper rising. "Now! I take responsibility. Go!"

Kim turned back to George while Jackie put warm blankets over his legs. Kim shook her head and pulled them up over George's chest. There was nothing she could do for this man other than honor his dying request to see his son, and try to keep him comfortable until the end.

George grabbed her hand and pulled her closer. "What's going to happen to him? Who's going to take care of my boy?"

"His mother?" Kim whispered, realizing as she spoke that Kevin's mother was dead.

"Dead --four months now." George closed his eyes, saving his strength. "No other family... He's going to be all alone."

The pain of George's quandary pierced through the carefully erected shell containing her own shattered emotions as if it didn't exist. Before she even realized what she was saying, the words were out of her mouth. "He has me. I'll take care of him. I promise you, I'll take care of him. He'll be okay." With her free hand, she wiped the tears from her cheeks. "He's going to grow up in a world you helped make safe. I won't let him forget you, I promise. Just rest, now. Kevin will be here soon."

After extricating herself from George's grasp, Kim straightened up and tried to regain some vestige of control over her emotions. Anxiously, she kept one eye on the clock as she moved to the bedside of her next patient. They had to bring Kevin soon because it was clear that George wasn't going to last much longer.

*****

Kim and Jackie had just begun to examine laser burns to a woman's arm when Kevin came tearing into the room. All of the conscious adults watched as the six year old threw himself on his father's chest, pleading, "Papa, don't die!" between wracking sobs.

"I don't have much of a choice, Kevin," George had whispered, using the last of his strength to gently rub his son's back. "I'll always love you. Remember that. These people will take care of you, but I'll always love you."

They all waited for George to say something more, but he remained silent. The hand that had hugged his son fell limply away.

"PAPA!" Kevin screamed the name. The adult who had escorted him in approached the bed, intending to take the child away from the horrific scene.

Jackie stepped between them, her role with patient treatment forgotten. "Leave him alone. He needs to be here."

Questioning eyes looked at Kim, who simply nodded her agreement before turning back to her work, leaving Jackie in charge of the boy. Let the other adults shrug their shoulders or gaze with disapproving expressions. Kevin was going to be allowed this time with his father; he deserved that much. She locked eyes with Kim for a moment, but that short look communicated all of the grief and frustration they both felt… as well as their mutual determination to allow Kevin this time.

Jackie gently touched the boy's back, but made no attempt to move him away. "Go ahead and cry, Kevin. Cry all you want to," she whispered through her own tears.

Sometimes, the price of freedom seemed too high.


	3. The Walls Come Tumbling Down

"Is this connected to the ventilation system?" Mike asked softly as they followed Martin through the crippled mothership's labyrinthine infrastructure to the lower levels of the ship.

Julie trailed behind with Elias bringing up the rear. Elias was facing backwards, allowing Julie to pull him along by his vest so he could focus entirely on protecting them from a rear-assault. There were advantages to weightlessness, and Julie's ability to "carry him" was one such advantage. Up and down had no meaning, and they hauled themselves along using the ladder as a handhold.

Martin shook his head silently and held his hand up for silence. He paused, listening carefully, then turned back to Mike. Donovan raised his eyebrows, silently asking what the visitor had heard. Moving closer to the human, Martin whispered, "Tapping."

"How far?" Mike whispered back.

Martin shrugged, uncertain. "Tell them," he directed before turning around and once again led them towards the disabled engines.

They went only a short distance before the humans were able to hear the sounds also. They turned at a juncture and soon found the way blocked. The tapping was louder.

Mike touched Martin's back to get his attention, then mouthed "Now what?" when the Visitor turned towards him.

Martin waved for them to retreat back to the juncture, where they could break out of their single file formation and confer.

"How many explosives do you have left?" Martin asked Elias.

"Three. But the door to master control took more than one, so we've probably only got enough to break through one panel."

Martin nodded, calculating the risks of their different options as he tuned his communicator to send rather than simply receive. "Lorraine?"

 _"Where are you?"_ Lorraine's voice emanated quietly from the unit in Martin's hand.

"Just outside the power supply sector. Any luck getting the computer systems back up?"

_"Not yet."_

"We can hear tapping. I was hoping you'd be able to determine who was there before we forced our way in."

_"Sorry."_

"I'll let you know when we're through."

_"Understood."_

Martin considered for a long moment and then looked to Julie. "Do you have more antitoxin with you?"

She nodded. "But we can't get it to them without exposing them first, so it won't do them any good."

"Not immediately, no. But there are options…." Without explaining further, he turned and went back to the barrier. He removed his sidearm from its holster and used the butt to tap in code on the panel. _How many are there?_

"You sure this is a good idea?" Mike asked, realizing that Martin was attempting communication. They had just relinquished the element of surprise.

"No." Martin spared him a glance. "But I'd rather put them to work than kill them at this point. And given the sector they're in, there 's a chance they can assist in repairs. A dose of antitoxin can be their reward."

 _Two_ The tapping was hesitant, but audible.

"Two of them." Martin relayed as he tapped another question. _Injuries?_

_No_

"And they claim not to have any injuries…" He tapped again and waited for a reply. "Or respirators. And they want to know why they need them," he added wryly, considering what he should tell them.

"Why didn't they leave with the rest of the crew?"

"Most of the crew is still on board," Martin answered, confused that Mike would think otherwise. He settled on telling the truth, and began to tap out instructions for surviving the initial toxin exposure once the barrier was breached.

"Wouldn't they have tried to escape when the self-destruct device was activated?"

Martin paused, partly distracted from his task by Mike's questions. He regained his focus and continued to give directions while explaining to Mike. "They didn't know it was activated. There was no ship-wide notification." He listened to the reply then holstered his weapon, giving Donovan and the other humans his full attention. "We're dealing with a lot of confused and frightened people. Last they knew, John was in charge and they were under attack, stationed over Los Angeles. Now, they're no longer in orbit, there's a mysterious toxin killing some of them, and the communications systems are non-functional. There are barriers all over the ship, preventing movement from sector to sector, and anyone who managed to breach those barriers ended up dead in a matter of minutes, unless they were quick-thinking and used a respirator." He waved Elias closer, indicating he should set the first explosive charge in place and continued, "Most of the crew has no idea what the real mission was about, or that humans are sentient. On top of that, until very recently, they've been under the command of Diana, who is well known for her temper and her… shall we say unorthodox means of maintaining discipline."

"What about the fifth columnists that were still here. Are they still on board, too?"

Martin nodded. "A few. Some requested transfers to other ships in recent days, but that has the potential to attract attention, so wasn't a popular option. There were alternate plans for getting them relocated, but until we secure the ship and restore communication, we won't know how many of them succeeded."

"What kind of alternate plans?" Julie asked, intrigued by the conversation. She and Mike followed Martin back to the bend in the ductwork, clearing the way for Elias to join them once the charge was set. It would probably be less risky, she knew, if they moved into the ship's corridors and abandoned the access tunnels, but that left them vulnerable from attacks by loyal troops. Here, at least, they were hidden from sight, though vulnerable to the force of the blast and any shrapnel that hurtled their way.

Martin shrugged, making light of his answer in an effort to deflect attention to his reluctance to share the details. "Nothing that hasn't been done before, in similar circumstances where the need arose," he explained casually, thinking once more of Kim's and Philip's daring infiltration of the fleet. He was saved from further discussion by Elias, who was pulling himself along as fast as he could, putting distance between his fragile flesh and the explosive he had just activated.

"Three… two… one" Elias counted from between gritted teeth. War wasn't what the movies made it out to be. In reality, it was a lot more work, and a lot harder work, than he'd ever imagined. He wondered, fleetingly, if his father had survived the initial raid on the mothership. It would be tragic if Pop had died so soon after the two had finally reconciled their differences.

Smoke and a forceful blast swept over the group, bringing internal musings to an end.

"Do we need another charge?" Donovan asked, waving his hand in front of his face in a futile effort to clear the air. Martin was trying to force the panel open and didn't seem to be making any progress.

Martin shook his head once as he continued to hammer at the damaged panel with his foot, bracing himself by holding on to a small ledge in the passageway. He could feel the metal begin to give way, and it finally broke free of the frame on one side. A few more solid kicks bent it back enough that they were able to squeeze past. "Be ready for anything," he warned.

"Where'd our friends go?" Elias asked, surprised that no one was waiting on the other side.

"They're probably in the corridor itself, not the service duct." Martin answered softly as he opened the access panel that would allow them to exit the cramped conduit. "And they likely went to get respirators. The first engine I want to check is in there." he pointed, then launched himself towards the closed panel with the practiced ease of one accustomed to zero-g.

*****

"I need a break," Caleb heard the teen mutter as he passed his shovel to someone else and collapsed on the ground next to Alan, who was also taking a break.

"Help yourself," Caleb held up four six-packs of cola as he neared the grave-digging crew. The numbers had expanded soon after Ham's group returned from their mission, due in no small part to the half-dozen teenagers who had volunteered to help.

"Where'd you get that?" A slender fifteen year-old girl asked as she took off her ball cap, swiped her forearm across her forehead and put the hat back on before reaching for a can.

"Teresa?" Caleb asked, not trusting his memory. At her nod, he continued to pass out drinks. "Ham Tyler got them. I didn't ask questions."

"Probably robbed a store then."

"Why don't you tell him ask him, Cole?"

"You kidding me, Teresa? _You_ ask him."

"It doesn't matter." Caleb intervened before the verbal jousting got out of hand. He sat down next to Alan as he studied the hole and the mound of dirt alongside it. They only had three shovels, but with frequent rotations, were making rapid progress. He estimated that the hole was currently three feet deep, but wide and long enough for eight coffins, maybe more if they jammed them in tightly.

Caleb had debated with the wisdom of calling on the youth for help, but decided that it was an exercise in futility to try to shield them from the realities of the day. It would be far better to let those teens that were willing help out and feel like they were part of the process.

He opened a can of cola and paused, waving it in the general direction of the ever-deepening hole. "Looks like you're making progress."

Alan nodded once, absorbed in his own thoughts. "How's Megan?"

"Still alive but still unconscious. They couldn't save her foot, though." Caleb sighed. "She's got a tough road ahead of her. We all do, I'm afraid," he added before half-draining a can in one long draught.

"I wish I could disagree with you." Alan said softly, shifting so he was leaning back on his elbows. His uniform was already filthy, so a bit more dirt on it wasn't going to matter.

"At least we're still here. That's more than Martin and I predicted last night." Caleb waved his hand at the compound. His gesture encompassed the graves, the group of small children playing ball, and the adults busy with the tasks of day-to-day life. He looked back at the gravesite. "The road ahead of us may be rough, but I'm not ready to call them the lucky ones."

"We gonna have a funeral later?" Teresa asked, plopping down on Caleb's right side.

He nodded gravely. "I think we should, don't you?"

"Who's gonna officiate? Father Andrew left," one of the other boys said, coming over to join them.

"I'll do it," Caleb assured them, belatedly realizing he was going to have to plan something for the impromptu service. "But I think we should leave it open to anyone who wants to say something."

Teresa looked at Alan with a curious gaze. "What are funerals like on Sirius?"

Alan stared at the growing hole in the ground, lost in memories. "Cremation, then the ashes are scattered. Usually in the desert by the family, but off world, it's up to the ship's commander."

"Isn't there a ceremony or something?"

Alan's head moved slowly from side to side, his eyes fixed on a distant time and place. "Just the usual speeches about duty, honor, and the Leader's glorious cause."

Caleb sighed. "Much as I'd like to honor your traditions, I'm afraid cremation isn't going to be an option for Philip or the others who may have preferred that to burial."

"It doesn't matter." The fifth columnist's voice was flat.

"It matters to me. They gave everything they had--their very lives--for something they believed in. The least we can do is say goodbye in a decent fashion." Caleb leaned towards Alan slightly. "We'll skip the bit about the Leader's glorious cause."

He stood up and brushed off his jeans. "Teresa, I'm putting you in charge of coming up with some kind of marker. It doesn't have to be fancy, but we need something to indicate this is hallowed ground."

At her nod, Caleb headed back towards the main building. So much to do… and none of it pleasant. The weight of responsibility was a hefty burden in times of peace. In times of war… it was crushing.

*****

"You need to go rest."

Kim shook her head, brushing off Jackie's concern as she moved from patient to patient, keeping up the pretense of being busy by checking them to see what else she could do to make them comfortable. "Not right now." She bit back the retort she wished to add, forbidding a sharp-toned plea for solitude to pass her lips. Jackie's concern was genuine and Kim didn't wish to belittle the gesture.

"When?" Jackie persisted.

Kim's eyes closed as she turned her attention inward in an attempt to call up some measure of strength from her already depleted reserves. "When the pain of exhaustion is greater than the pain of dreams." Finished with her task for the moment, Kim moved to the sink and washed her hands.

Jackie moved up behind Kim, putting a hand on her back. "I miss Philip, too. But we have to go on living. That's all we _can_ do."

Kim's voice was muted. "I'm not talking about just Philip. Have you forgotten about the others? Your sister?"

"Of course I haven't forgotten! But it's too soon to give up hope."

"You're wrong. It's too late to have any." Kim turned her head just enough that Jackie could see her profile. "Do you have any idea how slim the chances were for them to come back? It's a miracle the shuttle had time to escape. I have no doubt that Diana activated the self-destruct device. The only question is how far away they were able to get before the ship exploded."

"We would have seen something, or at the very least heard something,." Jackie argued.

Kim's head turned in a fluid half-shake. Her eyes closed. "You forget the Earth's rotation. And you know as well as I do that sound doesn't travel in space. The explosion would have been silent, maybe over the horizon…. Depending on their trajectory, the moon could have been between us…. or destroyed along with them. Although I guess we can pretty much rule that out since we're not being pummeled by debris…."

"Are you giving up on us, too?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you still think Earth is going to be destroyed?"

Kim shook her head. "Not today, at least. Maybe when the Leader attacks again, but not now. For the time being, I think we're all right." She put her hands on the porcelain basin and leaned heavily on them. "Twice widowed, thrice adored, but all right just the same." The words spilled unbidden from her lips like so many shards of glass.

Jackie's brow furrowed in confusion. Twice widowed? Kim had never been married, and only engaged once. It was time to push for answers. Clearly, Kim needed to talk. She was turning inward and visibly withdrawing from the world around her in a response to deeply felt pain. Jackie knew that forcing the matter would risk their already war-strained friendship. Kim was in a very fragile place and might lash out if she felt cornered. Look at the lengths Kim had gone to when Andrew was endangered! On the other hand, if Jackie didn't try to reach her now…. Jackie shook her head, discarding the thought. It was better not to even go there.

Resolved, she slid her hand from Kim's back to encircle her shoulders while taking hold of the arm closest to her. The pressure she applied was silent but unyielding. Jackie was relieved that after a moment's resistance, Kim yielded to the directive and accompanied her from the room.

It was with some measure of surprise that Kim allowed Jackie to guide her to a chair in the tiny kitchen housed in the main building. She had expected to be taken someplace very private, so that Jackie could fuss over her at length, insisting she lie down and rest while she assumed the unofficial mantle of head nurse for the duration of Kim's indisposition. She was further confused by Jackie's silence as she set a kettle of water on the stove to heat, retrieved mugs and teabags from a cupboard, and laid out a small plate of crackers and cheese in hopes that Kim would snack. It was only when they both sat sipping their drinks that Jackie broke the silence.

"'Twice widowed, thrice adored.' It's easy enough to figure out your reference to Marc. Philip was fond of you and I know you cared for him. I can venture a guess he's the second you're thinking of. However…" Jackie paused, tracing her finger along the rim of her mug. "Damian's alive and I doubt is fodder for something more permanent than…" Jackie groped for words. "Than what you already share."

She paused, hoping that Kim would break the silence and confide in her. She didn't. Jackie felt like their last chance to mend the growing gap between them was slipping away. She changed her tactics. "Kim, we've never really talked about it, I know…. But I've never forgotten how you stood by me after Ham left. No matter how many times I verbally ripped him to shreds, you never said a word against him. And you never berated me for the mistakes I made in that relationship. Not once did you chastise me. You did the same thing when my marriage fell apart."

She got up and started to pace beside the small table. "I know I've been difficult these last few months, and I can't make excuses for it. I've had problems with your decisions, but I had no right to impose my views on you. I was wrong to do that, especially since I never gave you a chance to explain so that I might understand."

She stopped her pacing and put her hand against Kim's back. Her head was bowed, and Jackie suspected she was crying, though she couldn't see her face and be sure. At least she was listening.

Determined, she forged ahead. "You're my best friend and I love you. You don't have to tell me anything. I promise I'll bite back my curiosity and respect your silence. But you're hurting and I want to help." She brushed Kim's hair back from her eyes and tucked the errant strands behind her ear. "Just tell me how to help."

Kim threw her arms around her waist, knocking her off balance. She quickly rallied and began to stroke Kim's hair, trying to soothe the pain manifesting itself in heart-wrenching sobs. Outwardly calm and comforting, Jackie's mind raced as she tried to wrap her mind around the implications of the single word Kim had managed to speak coherently.

_Martin._

_*****_

"Just do the best you can," Martin told the two frightened crewmembers who had returned to the area after securing respirators. Timid but cooperative, they had assisted Martin in surveying the remaining engines for damage and determining the best way of proceeding with repairs. As had been the case with the fifth columnists that had come to their aid in Master Control, these Visitors were low in rank and experience. Still, they seemed willing to help and had given no indication of hostility towards the humans or the fifth columnist commanding them. They were too fearful to be hostile.

Martin left the pair to their work and joined Julie, Elias, and Mike in the corridor where they had been keeping watch over the sector. There had been no other signs of life in this part of the ship, but they couldn't afford to be complacent.

"How bad off are we?" Mike asked, keeping his voice low.

"It could be worse." Martin sighed, digging continually deeper for the strength he needed to stay awake and focused. He relaxed his posture and closed his eyes savoring the brief reprieve from long hours of scrutinizing circuitry and readouts. "If we can get enough of a crew together to make the repairs, we can move back towards Earth. We'll have to stay in orbit since we won't have the power to hold a single position over the city, but it will put us in a more workable shuttle range.

"The bad news is that this ship is little more than scrap metal. At home, we'd probably be able to make the necessary repairs, but not here," he straightened slightly and opened his eyes, idly fingering the seam marking the juncture of two wall panels. Such a big ship, reflective of hundreds of thousands of hours of labor, and now almost worthless.

"Without those repairs, we can't _get_ it home. We'll be doing well to maintain hull integrity and life support long enough to unload the humans in storage." He sighed again, thinking about the long-term loss. "One mothership isn't enough to take on the rest of the fleet, but it would have been a good start."

"What do the engines have to do with hull integrity?" Julie asked, puzzled by Martin's off-handed comment.

"Nothing. But when we pulled away from your planet at such a high speed and without a full crew, we did a lot of damage. I've been checking on a lot more than just the engines -- there's a lot of information that gets fed to the personnel here. It gets relayed to displays and entered into databases. I'll spare you the details of how I got it out of computers that are shut down, but suffice it to say we're lucky to still be alive. Some sectors are totally decompressed. At least death was almost instantaneous for any crew there."

"So what do we do now?" Mike asked softly.

"One of you should stay here and keep an eye on them." He nodded in the direction of the young Visitors. "I don't think they'll try anything but we also can't afford blind trust. We need to see if we can find any more of the crew from this sector so we can get the engines working before the backup systems give out."

"I'll stay here," Elias volunteered. He wasn't eager to leave the relative safety of the engine rooms, despite the boredom being there entailed.

Martin nodded in acknowledgement, then pushed away from the bulkhead, leading Julie and Mike towards the unknown.

*****

Jackie closed the door to Kim's room and leaned wearily against it. Kim's breakdown had been followed by one confession after another. At times, the narrative had been too disjointed for Jackie to follow, but she kept her word and didn't press for explanations. There would be time for clarification later; for now it was enough that Kim was divesting herself of the burdens she had carried alone for so long.

Jackie knew that pressing Kim to the edge had been risky; she just hadn't known what else to try. Now, she was deeply thankful that Kim had reciprocated with a desperate grasp for help across the chasm that had separated them for most of the war. Exhausting as the last hours had been, the catharsis had been badly needed by them both.

There were still things Kim was holding back. The events surrounding Andrew's death had never come up, and Jackie suspected that they never would. Some wounds went too deep for words. It didn't matter in the larger scheme of things. Now that she knew more of what Kim's experience had been since they parted ways in the hidden laboratory early in the war, Jackie could only marvel at Kim's endurance. It was easier now to see why Philip had meant so much to her, easier to accept that she'd pursued a short-term relationship with Damian, and easier to comprehend her distress when the mothership didn't contact them.

Martin. Jackie shook her head. She never would have guessed how Kim felt about him, much less how Kim believed he felt about her. She wasn't going to examine the latter too deeply; if Martin never returned, it would be best to allow Kim whatever perceptions and memories she chose to harbor. If he did survive the war… the truth would come out eventually. It always did.

*****

As the sun sank low in the sky, Anthony and Damian found themselves standing outside the main building of the compound, waiting. The grave digging was almost complete and the frantic activity ensuing from arriving casualties had long given way to tense foreboding. Anthony nodded towards the shuttle, where Drew had stayed all day. "How long should we let him sit there?"

Damian tilted his head, questioning the need for the query. "As long as he wants. Don't forget that he's also monitoring the radio."

Anthony's mood turned dark. "No one is going to call. We'd have heard from them by now. You know it, I know it, and I bet he knows it, too."

"Maybe, but he hasn't accepted it yet. Give him time. He never wanted to get involved in the first place."

"Then how…."

"Megan. She got caught and he was guilty by association. To his credit, he's had opportunities to betray us and go back, but he didn't. He doesn't support the Leader, but he never planned to turn Fifth Column, much less stay on Earth."

"I can't say the latter was in my plans, either, but we're here and there isn't much we can do about it now."

Damian smiled, not able to share Anthony's depression at what the future held. "I think it's going to be interesting. Hard at times, sure, but interesting."

*****

It was a small and somber group that gathered near the graves to bid their fallen comrades a final goodbye. Most of the young children had been put to bed, though a few had been brought to the small funeral as a way of helping the youths cope with the realities of the day.

Two bonfires drove back the evening chill and provided flickering light by which the pallbearers carefully lowered the coffins into the wounded earth. No one spoke. Occasionally, someone could be heard sniffing or comforting an impatient child. The scraps of lumber that fed the flames crackled and snapped as they burned.

"I want to roast a hot dog, Mommy."

The three-year-old's innocent comment broke the tension and a rumble of quickly stifled laughter swept over the assembly.

"But I'm _hungry_."

"I said no!" an adult voice hissed in the darkness.

Kim hugged Kevin more tightly then sat back on her heels while he stood in front of her. Her knees ached from kneeling in the grass, but she wanted to be down at Kevin's level. He had spent most of the afternoon in Maggie's care, and had seemed quite reluctant to leave his small room after eating a light supper. Kim had coaxed and pleaded, and finally he had agreed to accompany her first to the site where the casket lids were being nailed on, and then finally to the grave site to sit warming by the fire while they waited.

As difficult as it had been to view the bodies, Kim believed it was necessary. She didn't want Kevin to look back with regret in the future, or wonder for the rest of his life where exactly his father had gone. If she'd had a camera available, she would have taken pictures for him to refer to in the coming years. It helped make it real, and she never wanted Kevin to worry that his father had been buried alive, or kidnapped, or victim to any other scenario an overactive imagination could dream up.

She'd steeled herself and guided little Kevin through the process of death, explaining what would happen with as little or as much detail as he requested. She'd said her own tearful farewell to Philip, and even leaned over to kiss his brow one last time. Then she'd taken Kevin by the hand once more and encouraged him to say goodbye to the father he would soon forget. A father who would forever be a phantom memory, endowed with superhero status and embellishments to his character only a child could dream up. Kim ached for what this little boy had lost, and vowed to learn as much about his parents as she possibly could. Though his memories would fade, he would never grow up thinking they had not loved him desperately.

The last casket was lowered into place and the pallbearers scrambled up out of the hole they had labored so long to dig. Caleb cleared his throat and asked for their attention.

"A lot of good people died today. Some are being laid to rest here, others we can only bury in our hearts. We may never know all their names. All we can do is make sure we never forget what they fought and died for. And never forget that it could just as easily be you lying there as one of them. War isn't fair and it isn't kind. And losing people we care about hurts. It hurts a lot, and it hurts for a damn long time. We just have to go on as best we can and make sure we live our lives in a way that gives their sacrifice meaning."

Caleb unfolded the well-worn paper he held in his hands and began to read the list of names. "Harmony Moore, George Fox, Sean Donovan, Ralph Smith, Eleanor Dupres, Frank Monroe, Bethany Jones, Philip…"

Kim continued to hug Kevin from behind and let her mind drift. There were too many individuals to grieve for. Too many lives had been cut short. Too many relationships had been shattered; she didn't want to think about it. Nor did she want to dwell on what names belonged on Caleb's list, but had not yet been added. By unspoken agreement, everyone on the mothership was considered to be missing in action. Until they could be absolutely certain they had perished, they would be relegated to limbo. Missed, but not grieved for. Lost, but not gone. Giving them M.I.A. status was a gesture of defiance on a day filled with death. Death would be granted no more lives on this day… even if the victory was a technicality.


	4. Mike's Turn

Kim checked Megan one last time before retiring for the night. The fact that Megan had not yet wakened had her somewhat concerned. On the other hand, they were all exhausted and that alone could account for her continued slumber. How much was due to the drugs compared to the contributions of a different physiology and the trauma of major surgery? There was no way to judge.

She yawned and rubbed at her eyes. How much longer could any of them continue this way? Sleep-deprived, fearful, always on guard to attacks that came without warning… Weekends and holidays were a distant memory. Vacation? A foreign concept. Peace was just a meaningless word in the dictionary.

"How is she?" Jackie asked quietly from the doorway.

"The same," Kim murmured back. "I didn't realize she'd been left alone."

"Limited resources." Jackie shrugged. "She's better off alone than with an unsympathetic rebel. Unfortunately, that's about all you'll find around here as a general rule. Or drunkards," she added, thinking of the motley group that had returned from the attack on security headquarters. Caleb's reprimand and meeting had dampened the celebrating only temporarily. As the day had worn on, more and more of the resistance had given in to the temptations of carefree relaxation. Jackie shook off her critical mood. It was hard to begrudge anyone a few hours of fun. "Anthony has been with her most of the evening. He went to check on William."

"Harmony's death was hard on him," Kim commented.

"Yes, it was," Jackie agreed. "From what I understand, they were good friends."

Kim didn't bother to correct the assessment, but felt a great deal of empathy for the quiet Visitor she barely knew… and who's grief she understood all too well.

"I'll stay with her. Why don't you go to bed? Sarah had both the kids fed and sleeping when I checked on them. You can probably count on a few unbroken hours, at least."

Kim nodded her agreement and started to shuffle towards the doorway where Jackie leaned on the frame. She was simply too tired, too far beyond fatigue to worry much about Jackie's own need for rest. She'd manage somehow, or ask one of the other Visitors to check on Megan later. "G'night." Kim paused, looking for the right words.

"If we hear anything, you'll be the first to know," Jackie assured her, anticipating Kim's request.

Kim nodded thankfully and headed down the hallway towards her room.

*****

"All right!" Mike Donovan couldn't contain his excitement when the panels monitoring the engine flickered once, then stayed on. Twinkling lights and scrolling readouts of an alien language meant that the engine was once again functioning. The two crewmembers who had tapped messages through the bulkhead had been joined by three more experienced recruits discovered during the subsequent search for survivors. Under Martin's guidance, the five Visitors had worked earnestly and succeeded in repairing the engine Martin had deemed least damaged in his survey. While Martin and the rebels didn't trust them completely, they had given every indication of being sincere in their efforts. The fact that the engine was once more generating power for the crippled ship was testament to their willingness to help. At least for now.

Martin stole a moment from his task and smiled broadly at the human, sharing the sentiment though the facial expression was an assumed mannerism. He activated his portable communicator and called Lorraine. "How are your repairs progressing?"

" _Slowly. We did get one set of data relays working and have access to your readouts. Congratulations on getting some power back. I'm going to see if we have enough to divert back to navigation. After that, ventilation will be next, as well as some additional heat in key areas._ "

"Agreed," Martin told her, pleased with the progress that had been made.

"What about turning the gravity back on?" Mike chimed in, still feeling quite ill. He watched his breath condense in the frosty air. True to Martin's warnings, the temperature had dropped significantly in the last few hours, only adding to his discomfort. The knotted cloths around his wrists helped combat the nausea some, but he still longed to regain a sense of "up" and "down."

Martin smiled again, empathizing with Mike's sense of urgency. While he himself had only rarely experienced the nausea and disorientation so many felt when in free fall, he was not without compassion for those who didn't fare as well. His brother, for example, never failed to get sick in the same conditions Mike was bemoaning.

"Soon, Mike," Martin assured him. "But if we smash into your planet because we put gravity over navigation control…"

"I hear you," the newsman conceded, disappointed nonetheless.

Martin turned his attention back to the com unit he was holding. "Lorraine, do you agree the situation is stable enough to warrant dividing into shifts and getting some sleep?"

" _As long as we use the bridge lounge rather than crew quarters. What about food supplies? We don't have any up here."_

Martin thought a moment before replying, "I know there are stores near the cells by the conversion chamber. Diana also had some in her laboratory. I'll take Donovan with me and we'll see what we can find. See if you have a couple of volunteers to come back down here with me until we switch off. Donovan and I will be there shortly."

_"Understood. Be careful. We still don't have any way of detecting activity in those sectors,"_ Lorraine couldn't help but remind him.

"We will," he assured her before clipping the unit back to his belt. "Julie, if you and Elias will stay here, I'll escort you up to Master Control once we get a relief crew down here."

Julie nodded, looking forward to getting some sleep. It had been a very long day for all of them.

"You don't expect us to eat rats and stuff, do you?" Elias asked, wary of any food prepared by the Visitors.

"If that's what you prefer." Martin looked evenly at him, though Mike could tell from long experience that the Visitor was joking.

"No way, man!" He turned to Julie, a pleading look on his face. "You tell him!"

"He's teasing you, Elias," Julie said as she smiled warmly at Martin. "I think when Lorraine said there were no supplies up there with them, she meant supplies for us."

Martin met her gaze, nodding slightly in agreement. His eyes were twinkling and he was clearly savoring the camaraderie that had developed between himself and these humans. "I expect Donovan and I will find something, probably the same that you received when you were Diana's prisoner."

Julie wrinkled her nose at the memory. "Stale sandwiches, dried fruit, cartons of milk that were never shown the inside of a refrigerator. I remember all too well." Her gaze swung to Mike. "Look hard," she implored before giving him a quick kiss. "And be careful. Both of you."

*****

"How long did it take you to learn your way around one of these ships? All the corridors look the same," Mike asked as he and Martin entered a storage facility near the human cell block.

"Not long. A few weeks to work out the shortcuts. Don't forget that it's harder for you since you can't read the signs that are posted." Martin opened a refrigerated cabinet and gestured for Mike to look inside.

"I didn't even know there were any."

"I'll show you on our way up to Master Control."

Mike nodded, distracted from the conversation by the appearance of the sandwich he had unwrapped. "Julie wasn't kidding." He sniffed it cautiously and confirmed his suspicions. He wrinkled his nose and quickly wrapped the offending item up. "This one's rancid."

"Rancid?" Martin repeated, unfamiliar with the term.

"Rotten. And no longer safe to eat." He handed it to Martin to discard and rifled through the other shelves, looking for sandwiches that were not quite so old. After checking two more, he shook his head. "How long have these been here?"

"I don't know. But the fact they've gone bad indicates how much Diana's so-called research was slowed down when Pamela took charge. I remember a time when they were scrambling to keep up with the needs of the prisoners. Don't give up yet; there are several other places we can check."

Mike waited while Martin put the first sandwich back inside then closed the door. "So we just leave this here for now?"

Martin nodded and pushed off in the direction of the exit. "We can worry about a large-scale cleanup later," he explained.

Their conversation was put on hold while they navigated the corridors, alert to any signs of unfriendly crew members. Martin silently pointed out the placards that were located in each junction. The unobtrusive color scheme and alien script had made them functionally invisible to Mike, although he had no trouble spotting others once he knew what he was looking for.

Once they were safely inside another storeroom, Mike resumed the discussion. "It's not often you don't know the meaning of a word. How long did it take you to learn English?"

Martin thought a moment, mentally converting his own time units to ones Mike was familiar with before he answered. "I began intense study about one Earth year before the ships departed the home world. I was fairly fluent after six or so of your months, but we all got better when we went to an Earth-language-only policy for the voyage here. That didn't work for inter-ship communications, of course, but was good practice." He grew thoughtful as he remembered that time. It seemed so long ago, and he had the strange sensation of remembering the life of a different person, not his own past. "It was hard on individuals that were transferred to a different ship at the last minute, since they didn't have the same preparation time. Lots of us tried to learn more than one language just in case that happened, but even so, there was no guarantee it would help, depending on the assignment."

"Like Willie," Mike commented, examining the condition of several sandwiches. "These we can eat. Got a container around we can load up?"

Martin nodded and retrieved a cloth bag from a smaller cupboard. He indicated another panel as he handed the sack to Mike. "There should be beverages in there, just don't open them until we're out of free fall."

"Good point. That'd make a huge mess," Mike conceded, having failed to consider how liquid would behave under these conditions. Sandwiches, at least, would be manageable. He worked quickly, trying to ignore his hunger though it was difficult while he was handling food. "So how many languages do you know, besides your own?"

"That's two right there -- military standard and the regional dialect from where I spent my teen years. As far as Earth languages, I know English, of course, a little French, plus a few phrases in Mandarin and Arabic."

"I'm impressed."

"Don't be. I've found that the more languages you know, the easier it is to learn others. Our linguists should get the real credit for their superb instruction. They managed to make the inconsistencies of English seem logical."

"I didn't think that was possible." He held up a container of milk as a way of warning Martin that the conversation was altering course. "Is there some way of keeping these cold up there, or would it be better to leave most of them here for now?"

"There's a cool-storage cabinet in the bridge lounge. I suggest you take enough for several days." The human was looking strangely at the milk he held in his hand. "What?"

Mike turned to Martin. "Do you ever stop and think how crazy this all is? You, me, this whole damn war. The way we're all pawns in someone else's game, and they never even bothered telling us what game we're playing?"

Martin nodded. "Every day." He smiled slightly, thinking about how his own life had been changed in ways simple and profound. "Fortunately, there have been compensations."

"Like what?"

"Our friendship, for one." Before Mike could delve further, Martin moved towards the door. A lifetime of habit wasn't going to be quickly undone.

*****

The bonfires had long since died down, leaving only glowing embers beneath a pile of hot ash. Oblivious to the chill in the night air, Caleb sat staring at the mounded earth marking the spot where time had stopped. A few paces away, William was keeping a similar watch. In the dim light, Caleb thought he saw William's mouth moving, but the sound didn't carry over to him.

For the thousandth time, Caleb looked to the sky, hoping to see a mothership blocking the tapestry of stars that were keeping vigil with them. He wiped the most recent flood of tears from his face using his sleeve, wishing the emptiness inside him could be wiped away as easily. But sitting here wasn't going to fix it.

Cursing his age and the lingering stiffness in his joints, he got to his feet and went over to where William was sitting. "You plan to stay here all night?"

William nodded once and said nothing.

Caleb sat down and stared once more at the mass grave. "I wish I could say something that would help, but the fact of the matter is, I can't. When you lose people you care about, it hurts."

Willie sighed. "Zon teaches that the afterlife is a reward for a life well lived. We should be happy for those whose suffering has ended."

Caleb snorted in derision. He'd heard that same argument in many guises in the past and it never made sense to him. "Just 'cause you've got a religion doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."

"Then what good is the religion?"

Caleb's head snapped to the side and he studied Willie's profile carefully. Alien or not, he knew a crisis of faith when he saw it. "It gives you the strength to endure the pain. The hope that you'll see them again. The comfort that their suffering has ended, even if you miss them terribly and wish they'd had the chance to spend more time in this reality. The faith that somehow, somewhere, there is justice and those responsible for evil will receive proper punishment."

"I just want it to stop hurting."

"Then you'll have to stop living." Caleb placed a warm hand on William's back. "I've been where you are now. I know it's hard. Experience doesn't make it any easier. I buried my wife, I buried my son Ben, and now Elias is gone. I won't even get to bury him. It hurts. That's a fact. So we can either roll over and die too, or struggle to go on living. Those are the choices. I chose to go on living. Then, at least, I can try to find some way to make their deaths mean something. Failing that, I can make sure they're never forgotten."

Caleb pointed to the fresh-dug earth. "They didn't die so that we could just quit. And if we quit now, they died for nothing. We can't let that happen. So no matter how much it hurts, and no matter how bad we miss 'em, we have to keep going. We owe it to them to keep trying, even when we don't want to." Caleb got to his feet and held his hand out to the Visitor who had once saved his life.

"It takes a long, long time, but the pain does get easier after awhile. You learn to live with it better, I guess. Let's go inside and see if we can get some sleep."

William's lifeless gaze met his own and Caleb could see the hesitation the Visitor felt at leaving the grave site. There had to be some way to break through William's isolation. "I don't think any of them would've wanted us sitting out here all night. We can remember 'em just as well inside where it's warm."

That did it. Reluctantly, William took Caleb's hand and allowed the self-proclaimed factory worker to pull him to his feet, and symbolically, back to an active role in life.

"Thank you, Caleb."

Caleb nodded his understanding as he put his arm around the Visitor and started them walking towards the main building.

*****

Lorraine looked at her watch and shook her head. It seemed like she had just lain down in the bunk, and already it was time to return to duty. She allowed Martin to help her to her feet. It was a relief to have the sensation of gravity back, although at levels far below what they were accustomed to in order to allow for unsecured items to move gently to the floor rather than accidentally crush delicate equipment… or people. Once they were certain no damage would result, they'd power up the generators to full capacity. She stretched cautiously, favoring her wounded shoulder and stiff neck. At least the nausea induced by free-fall had passed.

She joined Martin by the cages lining the far end of the room and selected a small rodent for her meal. Keeping her voice low, she glanced back at the bunks where the humans were still sleeping. "Are we going to wake them?"

Martin shook his head. "Let them sleep. There isn't a lot for them to do right now." He nodded acknowledgement to the other two Visitors whom he had wakened, and stepped aside so they could access the cages. A sideways glance from Lorraine indicated she wanted him to stay behind, and soon, they were alone in the room with the sleeping humans.

"How's your shoulder?"

"Tolerable. I'm just really tired. We all are."

He nodded sympathetically, waiting for her to ask whatever it was that had her preoccupied.

"Have you given any thought to what happens next?"

"Next?"

"We can't stay on the ship forever. We can't take it home. I haven't been to the surface much and wanted to know what to expect." Her eyes begged that he not take her admission as a sign of weakness.

His demeanor softened as he realized her concerns. "Try not to worry. It isn't going to be easy, but we do have help from someone uniquely qualified to appreciate the challenges we're facing. I'm sure a lot of the rebels will help, too." Martin leaned back against the wall of cages and smiled slightly. "You remember Karen, don't you?"

*****

Drew stared morosely at the shuttle's control panels. Out of desperation, he once again checked that the radio was on and scanning all possible frequencies. The ship had to come back. It just had to. The alternative was being stranded on Earth for an indefinite period of time. He didn't want to fight--not the humans, not his own people. He just wanted to go home. Staying with Martin's group had seemed less risky than trying to infiltrate a loyal ship, but looking back, he could only wonder if that would have been a wiser course of action after all. At least then, he'd be on a ship, and possibly on a ship that was returning to Sirius.

Again, he checked the radio. If he just waited long enough, surely they'd call. They had to.

*****

Lorraine's head slowly moved side-to-side as she tried to assimilate what Martin had shared with her. "If anyone else were telling me this, I wouldn't believe it."

Martin tucked an errant lock of blonde hair behind her human ear. He could hardly remember what her real face looked like. "Believe it."

"I do. It's just…" she left the sentence unfinished, not even sure what she was trying to say.

"There's a lot more I still haven't told you."

"We never dared talk about anything that wasn't absolutely necessary for the other to know." She closed her eyes and pressed against him, forgiving him for all the conversations that had never taken place, and ones that would be skipped in the future. "I'm so tired of all the subterfuge, the acting, the outright lies. Tell me that at least that aspect of the war is behind us."

Martin put his arms around her and held her close, being careful of her injured shoulder. "For now, in the company of friends, it's behind us. We'll still have to be careful with most of the humans. But at least in Kim's home, we won't have to pretend. We'll have that much."

Lorraine was special to him, perhaps more than even she realized. Through it all, her loyalty had never wavered. It occurred to him that in another life, in another set of circumstances, he and Lorraine might have been something more than friends. Maybe on Earth, freed of the constraints of the fifth column's agenda and the strict rules of the military, she'd find happiness. He hoped so.

*****

Damian knocked softly on the door and opened it before waiting for a response. Kim was still sleeping. Without any hesitation, he sat down on the edge of the bed and gently shook her shoulder. "Kim, wake up."

Her eyes snapped open and her breath caught in her throat. "What's wrong?"

"They're alive. Caleb is talking to Martin right now. Lorraine was able to deactivate the self-destruct sequence."

"They're okay?" she asked, still not believing what he was telling her.

He nodded and smiled at her. "The ship was badly damaged and they just got communications back on line. Otherwise, we would have heard from them sooner."

She flung her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she didn't even try to hold them back. Ever cautious of who else might hear, she switched to Sirian and spoke softly against the fabric of his uniform. "Have you talked to her? Does she know you're here?"

"No. Not yet. I didn't even stick around to hear the details."

She squeezed him tighter, knowing he'd wanted to be the one to share the news with her. For the last several hours, they'd shared a unique pain in silence, and it was only natural he'd want to share the joy with her as well.

"Kim?" Jackie called tentatively through the partly open door.

Kim released her death-grip on Damian and wiped her face with the back of her hand. "Come on in, Jackie."

Jackie poked her head around the door. "Just checking to make sure you heard the news," she said, trying valiantly to hide the disappointment she felt at seeing Damian already there.

"I heard. Good news travels fast. Do you have any details yet?"

Jackie shook her head. "Just that we're meeting in the main room in a few minutes to plan our next move."

"Just let me get dressed and I'll be right there."

"I'm going to put on some water for coffee and see what we can scrounge up for breakfast. I expect we'll have a busy day ahead."

Kim laughed. "I'd recommend an extra helping of the greasiest fare you can find for our hung-over cohorts. It'll serve them right for partying ahead of schedule."

"I'll see what I can find," Jackie answered with a grin before leaving them alone.

Kim grew somber. "I just hope we all make it though the next few days. I'd hate to think something would go wrong now, but it could."

Damian shook his head and pressed a silencing finger to her lips. "Don't even think it. Just concentrate on the facts we have, not what might happen tomorrow."

"I can't help it."

He hugged her again, trying to reassure her while wrestling silently with the same doubts. "I know."

*****

"All right, folks, let's have some quiet," Caleb bellowed to be heard over the din.

Several people near him winced. "Hey, no need to shout!" one man said, rubbing his aching temples.

"No need for you to have gotten drunk, either," Caleb fired back without sympathy. He paused as silence settled over the group. He glanced over to Tyler, who was standing in the back corner of the room watching the proceedings. Tyler nodded for him to go ahead. Caleb took a deep breath and smiled at the assembly. "I'm going to start at the beginning so we're all working from the same information." He looked down at the notes he'd hastily scribbled. "At about 6:47 this morning, we finally got word from the L.A. mothership. Julie, Mike, Elias, and Martin are all okay. Lorraine was able to deactivate the self-destruct device, but the ship has been badly damaged. John and Pamela are dead. Diana got away and took Elizabeth with her." His gaze swept over the room, looking for Robin and looked at her sympathically. "I'm sorry. But it appears that Diana wants her alive. Martin did catch a glimpse of her and said she appeared unharmed."

"Any word on the rest of the fleet?" someone from the back of the room called out.

Caleb shook his head. "Most everything on the L.A. ship has been off line for several hours, so they weren't able to monitor any ship-to-ship communications. Martin believes that most of the fleet is still nearby, though a few ships may consolidate 'resources' and return home." As he said the word "resources," he made quote marks in air with his hands. "There's nothing much we can do about that for now."

"So when do we go home?" a young man asked.

"That's up to you. From what Tyler says, though, I'd think twice before packing up and heading out. We've gone from martial law to no law and there's a lot of looting and rioting taking place. I'll take my chances on the ship."

A dozen different voices protested Caleb's comment. "What are you talking about?" "I'm not going up to no broken-down mothership." "I'm done fighting…."

"Sit down and shut up!" Tyler snapped from his post in the corner. Though he was leaning casually against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, there was no doubt he meant business. The M16 slung across his shoulder reinforced his words. "Only a bunch of amateurs would think you get one lucky day and get to go home. Your work's just getting started, folks." With a glance, he turned the floor back over to Caleb.

"Ham and I just spent the last half hour or so talking all of this over with Martin." Caleb's gaze surveyed the room, trying to gauge the rebels' reactions as he continued, "We all agree that the best course of action is to relocate to the mothership. They barely have enough trustworthy crew to keep the ship functional. They're going to need help if they have any hope of containing the loyalists. Don't forget that we have several thousand of our people to revive and bring home. That means we need food and clothing for all of them. They need to be brought back to the surface, and that means we need secure drop-off points, escorts, and shuttle pilots, just to name a few. Julie and the others can't do all of that by themselves. Rather than try to keep this base secure from the chaos in the city, we think it's best to move to a secure portion of the ship. Martin said they'll dispatch the first shuttles as soon as they're within range, which should be within the hour. I suggest you start packing."

"Of course," Ham said, looking up from the M16 he was caressing to scan the room. "Anyone who isn't willing to be troubled with all this is welcome to step outside with me." He grinned humorlessly. "I'm sure we can come to an understanding."

*****

"Julie, wake up," Martin said softly as he tried to rouse the human in the lower bunk without likewise waking Mike and Elias. She murmured in her sleep and tried to push his hand away. He persisted, "Julie."

Her eyes opened. He waited while she studied his face, reading unpleasant news in the miniscule changes of pseudoskin on his face. "What?"

He motioned her from the bed and she followed him to the wall furthest from the bunks. The caged animals scurried about in protest, but Martin ignored them. "We've been in contact with the surface. We need to tell Mike, but I thought you should be warned- Sean's dead."

"No," Julie whispered, fighting back tears. "Do you know any more?"

Martin nodded. "The details aren't pleasant. We can wait until he asks. I know you both need sleep, but I thought he should know."

Julie nodded her agreement. "There's never a good time for bad news."

"There's a conference room nearby. We'll have privacy there. Unless you think he'd want Elias with him, too."

"No. Let Elias sleep." Julie took a deep breath and tried to steel herself for what was to come. "I'll wake Mike. We'll join you in a moment."

Martin nodded once, then quietly returned to Master Control.

*****

It wasn't long at all before Julie led Mike into the center of command. Martin watched as Mike looked around the room, puzzled at what urgent turn of events had caused Martin to summon them.

"What's our status?" the cameraman asked innocently.

"Come with me," Martin replied neutrally as he left his post and led them through the doors to the main corridor.

"I don't like this," Mike commented, sensing something wasn't quite as it should be.

Julie touched his sleeve, trying to reassure him with her presence. "Wait until we're alone."

Martin halted outside the conference room, keyed open the door, and gestured the humans inside. Only when the door was secured behind them did he meet Mike's questioning gaze. "We've been in contact with the surface while you were sleeping."

"That's good." Mike hesitated, the sense of foreboding increasing. "Isn't it?"

"In general, yes. For you, no." Martin's voice was full of emotion. "Sean was killed yesterday."

"That can't be. He was with his grandmother. They converted him, for Christ's sake, they wouldn't hurt him."

"Mike…" Julie whispered, gently placing her hand on his sleeve.

"Forget it. Your information's bad. Let's go back up to Master Control, contact the surface, and straighten this out."

He tried to push past the Visitor, but Martin didn't yield. "I'm sorry, Mike, but there's no mistake. Caleb wouldn't lie about something like that. Ham either, for that matter."

"Caleb wasn't there. You know he was in the shuttle bay with us during the attack." He grabbed Martin by the front of his uniform and shoved him up against the bulkhead.

Martin didn't resist and instead motioned Julie back. He was at no risk from the human, no matter how the situation looked. "He's dead, Mike."

"NO! You're wrong!"

Martin took Mike's face between his hands, forcing the human to meet his gaze. "Sean is dead." The disbelief he saw in Mike's eyes slowly gave way to horror. "I wouldn't tell you if I weren't sure."

"No," Mike whispered. He shook his head, releasing Martin to back away, to flee from the source of unbearable news, and bumped into Julie.

She put her arms around his waist and held him from behind. "I'm sorry, Mike. I know how much you loved him."

"No. NO!" Mike struck out blindly, then collapsed. "Sean!" he sobbed again and again while Julie stroked his hair and tried to give him comfort.

She looked up and saw Martin watching them both with great sympathy. It was clear that he was willing to stay, but Julie knew he was needed in Master Control. She nodded to him, indicating it was okay for him to leave. She'd see Mike through the initial waves of shock and grief.

"Take as long as you need," he told her softly before exiting the room.

*****

Much later in the day, a very calm and composed Mike Donovan strode through the entrance to Master Control. He went directly to Martin, ignoring everything and everyone else in his way. "I need a shuttle. I want to go down to the surface and see that Sean gets a proper burial."

"Mike…" Martin paused, wondering what effect this was going to have on the newsman. Still, he couldn't lie to him. "They already buried him. Last night."

"Last night!" The calm demeanor shattered and he cursed with a stream of words Martin didn't recognize… or care to learn. "Couldn't they have waited just a few lousy hours?" He turned to the main view port, staring out into the void of space. Whatever answers he was looking for eluded him.

Martin left the console he had been trying to repair and went to stand by the human. He laid his hand on Mike's back and stood facing his profile. "They didn't have a reason to, Mike." His voice was gentle as he explained. "Until we got in contact with them early this morning, they assumed we were dead, too. If they _had_ known, I'm sure they would have waited for you."

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"You were in shock. You wouldn't have remembered anything Julie or I said."

"Tell me now." Mike's voice was calm. Too calm. "What else do you know?"

"Are you sure you want to hear it? It won't change what happened."

Mike bowed his head, forcing the words out between clenched teeth. "I need to know."

Martin sighed. He'd expected that would be Mike's answer. "Caleb said that Steven shot your mother as she tried to flee the house. Apparently, she realized her best chance was with the resistance, but Steven wasn't willing to let her go. She died instantly."

Mike nodded. His eyes squeezed shut, bracing himself for what was to come.

"Once the rebels had the building secured, a few of them started searching it to make sure they had everyone." Martin paused, wishing there were some way to make the news gentle. He was able to discern the muscle tension in Mike's back though the layers of uniform. "Ham found Sean's body in a hallway closet. He had been shot point-blank in the chest with a laser pistol. It would have been over for him in an instant. Presumably, Steven either figured out he'd been tricked, or for reasons unknown, decided he didn't need Sean any longer. They couldn't determine how long he'd been there, so we'll probably never know for sure." Martin paused again, letting Mike absorb that bitter truth for a moment before continuing, "Caleb said to tell you that Ham Tyler personally poured an entire packet of the toxin down Steven's throat."

"Even that was too good for him," Mike muttered, looking up to meet Martin's sympathetic gaze.

"I agree."

Mike shook his head. Saving Sean had been a driving force in his life for so long, he was lost without it. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"Help make sure that what happened to Sean never happens to anyone else." Martin hesitated, gauging the effect his words were having. Mike seemed to be listening. He slid his hand up Donovan's back until he was grasping his shoulder. As with Kim, the physical contact seemed to calm him, grounding him in the moment. "Diana used Sean against you for a long time. If you give up now, they win. _She_ wins."

Mike squeezed his eyes shut, struggling for control over his emotions.

"I wish I'd had the chance to get to know him," Martin offered, feeling the muscles shaking under his palm.

Mike's head moved from side to side. "He never would have let you near him. The way he talked when he was at the base…." He choked back a sob as he sank slowly to the floor.

Martin moved with him, maintaining the contact. "That was the conversion talking, not your son."

"I lost him a long time ago, didn't I?"

The Visitor nodded slightly. "In some ways. I don't know if the conversion could have been reversed or not. Even then, we don't know what scars would have remained. But as long as there was a chance, you had to try."

The last comment got Mike's attention and he looked up at Martin with an accusing stare. "You said before you couldn't judge me."

Martin shook his head. "I can't. I still would have done things differently. But you did what _you_ had to do. And I think Sean probably knew that. He _was_ your son."

"I just wanted to keep him safe," Mike whispered as the tears coursed freely down his cheeks. "He was just a kid." Eyes full of raw pain pleaded with Martin for some explanation, some way of dealing with the anguish.

"Diana can't hurt him any more," Martin reminded him.

"It's not enough!" With that, Mike's remaining resolve crumbled. He allowed Martin to pull him closer, giving him the refuge of a friend's embrace as the grief spilled forth.

Martin said nothing and just let him cry. The human ways of expressing emotion with displays of tears and laughter would probably always seem somewhat strange to him. But he recognized pain when he saw it and knew from Kim that the physical contact was a comfort. If this was what Mike needed to deal with his pain, then he was determined to help.

*****

It was a small but happy group that waited in a cluster as the two shuttles touched down in the same spot Martin's group had first landed two days ago. Caleb shook his head at the realization of how little time had actually passed. It seemed like a lifetime ago that they were preparing for the attacks.

Caleb watched as a female Visitor stepped off the first shuttle and squinted at the noontime sun that pierced through her sunglasses. He was about to step forward and introduce himself when Damian greeted her and took charge of making her feel welcome. Caleb decided that was just as well, because the visage that had just emerged from the second shuttle was a mere ghost of the man he'd last seen on the mothership.

"Mike, I'm sorry."

Donovan nodded once; even that was an effort. "Where is he?" he asked, stumbling on the uneven ground.

Caleb caught his elbow and helped him get his balance, then led him towards the site of the mass grave. "I'll show you."

They walked the rest of the way in silence.


	5. Creepy Crawlies

Mike surveyed the gravesite with a very critical eye, then turned to Caleb. "Get me a shovel."

"Mike--"

"I'm not leaving him here. He deserves better than this." he snarled, gesturing to the mound of dirt and wilted bouquets of wildflowers that had been laid near the makeshift headstones-- broken bricks that had been scrubbed clean before a black marker was used to write names on the irregular surfaces, one per stone.

"They _all_ do."

Mike wouldn’t let himself be dissuaded. "You don't understand. This is my son we're talking about."

"The hell I don't understand!" Caleb's voice dropped to a whisper. "The Visitors killed my son, too."

Mike shook his head, confused. "Elias is fine."

"I'm talking about Ben. He was a doctor. The kind of man anyone would be proud to call their son. And the Visitors murdered him." Caleb jabbed at Mike's chest with his forefinger. "So don't tell me I don't understand what it's like to grieve for your boy." Caleb took a deep breath to get hold of himself and continued more dispassionately, "But this isn't a contest to see who's been hurt the most and who's lost the most. We're here to do a job and that job is to make sure they didn't die for nothing." Caleb pointed emphatically at the graves. "They don't need us any more, but those people do," he continued, pointing now towards the base with one hand while he used the other to grab Mike's arm and make him face the buildings. "And the people on the ship need us even more. I understand that you're still in shock and that you need time to get past that. Fine. Take some time while we start moving people and supplies to the mothership. But you're going to have to pull yourself together and start looking at the bigger picture pretty soon. This war isn't about just Sean, or Ben, or anyone else that was killed. It's about _Earth_. We need you. Earth needs you."

Mike watched slackjawed as Caleb stormed back to the main building, leaving him alone with his son's grave. He'd seen some terrible things in his life, especially when covering wars in distant lands. But never before had he felt so alone, so lost… or so helpless…

 

*****

 

Anthony stepped into the corridor and accosted the very first person he saw: the young woman who had helped transfer the collected weapons and uniforms from the shuttle to the back of a truck when his group had arrived at the humans' base. "Will you let Kim know that Megan's awake?"

As soon as Maggie nodded, he returned to Megan's side. After an early morning consultation with Kim, he'd stopped giving her a combination of antibiotics, sedatives and pain killer and transitioned her to a regimen that would allow her to regain consciousness. Gradually, Megan's sleep had become more restless until she'd finally opened her eyes and surveyed her surroundings, although through a drug-induced haze.

He moved closer, concerned about how she was going to react to her current situation. "Are you experiencing much pain?"

Megan shook her head cautiously, frowning slightly as she tried to get oriented with her surroundings. "Where are we?"

"Back on the surface, specifically at the rebels' base."

"How bad is it?"

Anthony just stood there, not sure how to respond to her question. He fervently wished Kim were there to handle Megan's questions.

"I see." Megan closed her eyes. This was a situation she'd never anticipated. Then again, very little of what she'd experienced in recent months had been commonplace. She opened her eyes and reached for Anthony. "Help me sit up."

He complied hesitantly, but kept his arm across her back while she surveyed the damage herself. The pseudoskin covering her left foot was visible beyond the hem of her uniform and she wiggled her toes to assure herself it was indeed her own appendage she was seeing. They'd apparently removed her boot to make sleep more comfortable. Her gaze slowly moved to the right, resting at last on the bandages that ended above where her ankle should have been. Beyond that… nothing. There was no ankle, no foot… just the sheet she was lying on. Her heart cried out at the absence.

She touched her knee and was alarmed that she couldn’t feel the pressure of her own hand. Further checking showed that the lower portion of her thigh was also completely without sensation.

"The numbness is due to localized anesthetic," Kim said quietly from the doorway. She slowly made her way to the bed and sat down wearily on a stool that had been sitting nearby. "You'll get feeling back once it wears off, but it will probably take a few more hours, at least."

Megan nodded in understanding, then looked at Kim. "Is this your handiwork?"

"Yes."

Megan watched Kim's face as she answered. She could tell Kim was bracing herself for an assault, preparing to take the blame for not respecting the ways of a different culture. "Thank you."

Kim shook her head. "You have nothing to thank me for."

"I'm alive."

"They got you off the ship, not me." Kim smiled slightly. "Fifth column habit of bucking the system, I suppose."

"So you know what I'm expected to do?"

Kim nodded. "And I'll freely admit I don’t agree with it. I can't think of a single good reason to let someone die just because they can't make a so-called 'full recovery.'"

Megan watched as Kim made quotation marks in the air as she spoke, talking with her hands as well as her voice. Ever since Kim had emerged from behind Karen's mask, she'd slowly been discarding adopted constraints to her mannerisms and speech and reverting to her native style. Megan had been fascinated with the process, recognizing that Kim was likely unaware of what she was doing. Her military bearing and reserve had slowly been replaced by animated gesturing and human expressions. Even so, she retained a tendency to give and respond to Sirian signals, merging them with her human mannerisms. Jackie, too, had unconsciously picked up on some of the Sirian body language and incorporated it into her own repertoire. At the same time, the fifth columnists had internalized the tendency to use human gestures and facial expressions, perfecting their ability to pass as human by benefit of having two real humans to interact with. Like Kim and Jackie, they merged the new habits with their old ones, until none of them --human or Sirian-- behaved in a way that was true to their native culture. Megan could only wonder what anthropologists of both worlds would make of the way the group at the soundstage had come to interact with each other.

Megan's silent musings were halted when she realized Kim was scrutinizing her. "I was just thinking."

Kim waited, saying nothing.

"What happens now?"

"That's your decision to make," Kim continued, choosing her words carefully, "I don't agree with the philosophy, personally, but it's your life and your choice. I also know that the coming months are going to be hard… this isn't something you just shrug off in a day. But so many good people have died already. I'd rather not see you added to those numbers."

"Caleb's looking for you, Kim," Maggie said, sticking her head into the room.

Kim sighed, then turned and looked over her shoulder so she could see Maggie. "Did he say if it was urgent?"

Maggie shook her head. "Sorry. I guess you're just popular." She smiled gently before disappearing into the corridor.

Kim nodded, then turned back to Megan. What more could she say? On the other hand, she didn't feel right leaving.

Megan seemed to be reading her thoughts. "It's okay." She leaned back on her elbows, weary from sitting. "Right now, I just want to sleep."

"So do I," Kim admitted as she slowly got to her feet. "So do I."

 

*****

Kim found Caleb and Damian sitting across from each other at a table in the conference room, poring over pages of lists they had put together, trying to organize everything that needed to be done in the next few hours. "Where's Ham?" she asked, surprised he wasn't part of the planning. "Did someone finally strangle him?"

Caleb snorted and shook his head. "He took Chris and headed out right after that early morning meeting. They're checking where we can set up a release base. He said he'd be back in time to supervise final evacuation here."

"Release base?" she repeated while making a face. She sank wearily into the chair beside Damian and continued. "You mean where we'll deliver people back to the surface?" she asked Caleb. Under the table, she put her hand on Damian's knee, leaning into him as he put his arm around her shoulders.

"Don't look at me. I didn't name it," Caleb replied gruffly. "But it will keep him from annoying anyone for a couple of hours, the way I figure. Last thing we need is him and Mike going for a final knockout round."

Kim's eyebrows shot up. "They had a fist-fight?"

"They were both sporting bruises for days." Caleb tapped a sheet of paper with his pencil and straightened up a bit in his chair. "What kind of supplies do we need to be sure to take with us to the mothership? Damian figured you'd know best."

Kim smiled to herself, knowing full well that Damian had not explained _why_ she was the best resource, but simply stated it as fact. She leaned her elbows on the table and steepled her fingers, studying her hands as she thought.

"Lots of tape, markers, and paper of some sort. We need to clearly mark the corridors and quarters in English so no one gets lost. Actually, we could have some of the older kids work on that now. The little ones can be kept busy drawing pictures or something. They can draw arrows, too, to put up with the labels indicating which direction you need to go to get somewhere."

"What else?"

"Food. Especially perishables. There's plenty of cold storage on board, so we should pack everything we've got. Take the pots and pans and utensils, too. I guess pizza delivery is too much to hope for…" She leaned back in her seat and continued, "Do you have that map Anthony drew?"

"Right here," Damian said, pulling it from the bottom of the stack. "We know they’ve secured this sector's landing bay and Master Control," he said, pointing. "We can probably secure all levels of this sector and use this kitchen here."

"What about sleeping quarters?" Caleb asked, leaning forward to peer at the map.

Kim shook her head. "Not right away. Master control is at the top level, and the bays are at the bottom. We've got too many levels between them we have to survey and clear of loyalists before we can safely spread out. We can use the shuttles for now."

Damian chimed in. "Getting total control of that section of the ship is a high priority; we have to make sure access to Master Control can't be cut off by a loyalist uprising. There are some senior crew quarters one level down that we'll start clearing of any loyalists, then we can just spread out from there."

Kim nodded in tired agreement. "We won't need many blankets --the ship is pretty warm, but we can use them to add a bit more padding to the bunks. I vote for taking as much as we can with us from this base. Anything we leave here will just be at risk from looters. If we don't use some of it, no big deal."

"I think we should rotate what shuttles come to the surface. Then we can park them in the bay and skip unloading them," Damian added, explaining his suggestion.

"Sounds good to me. We should be completely out of here by tonight, if we hustle." Caleb said, leaning back in his chair once more. "Guess we'd better get some volunteers to go in the first team that'll help secure the landing bay and give the folks up there some relief."

"We can take the wounded after that so you and Julie have access to better medical facilities," Damian suggested, looking at Kim. "I think we should organize two other security teams, too. One group can safeguard the supplies as we move them and provide backup if there is an attempted takeover during the shuttle relays. A third team can protect this site and pull out last."

"Sounds good," Caleb agreed, wishing once again that someone else was making the decisions. At least he had someone providing solid advice. "Can we move all the wounded in one trip?"

Kim smiled. "Leaving out everyone with a hangover, yeah. There are only five people I'm really worried about, anyway. The rest just need to be treated to prevent infection, or given time to recover from sprains and the like."

"Aren't there any antibiotics here?" Caleb countered, surprised.

"Not enough for more than a few days. Joe managed to get cut up badly at the mansion and needed a lot of stitches. The others are primarily dealing with second and third degree burns from laser fire. Ideally, Joe needs a tetanus booster. We've got a few others who should have boosters, too. Anthony and I are hoping we can patch something together from the ship's facilities and supplies that will do the job."

"I hope you can," Caleb commented, studying Kim's face more carefully. "But in the meantime, you're looking pretty pale. You'd better go get some rest."

Kim reluctantly conceded the issue without a challenge. In truth, she knew they were right and it was a relief to have an excuse to return to bed. She wasn't even able to hide a yawn as she slowly got to her feet. _Tired. So tired…_ She swayed slightly, feeling faint. _Stood up too quick_ ly. That was her last coherent thought, followed by a vague awareness of Damian's arm holding her firmly as the world slipped into blackness.

"She fainted?" Caleb asked, scrambling around the table to reach Damian as Kim went limp immediately after standing.

The Visitor nodded as he lifted Kim into his arms. "She really shouldn't be up."

Caleb opened the door for Damian and watched as the Visitor gently carried Kimberly back to her room. He studied them for a long moment, wondering about the untold story behind this human and the Visitors she was so close to. Like many wartime stories, he suspected he'd never hear the details. There was too little to be gained in the sharing, and too much pain to endure when resurrecting memories of what each of them had endured and lost.

*****

The celebratory atmosphere that had suffused the rebel group on the surface was nowhere to be found on the mothership. Perhaps it was the structural damage that put the ship's inhabitants at risk, or maybe the threat of an uprising by confined loyalists that kept the mood somber. More likely, it was the sum total of many such factors, including a limited supply of antitoxin. Regardless of the cause, Martin's small group of fifth columnists was tired, frustrated, and more than slightly overwhelmed.

Their spirits had lifted some when they'd been able to contact the surface group and ask for reinforcements. Lorraine had also established contact with Paul and learned that, from all indications, the infiltration of the San Francisco ship by fifth columnists had been successful. There was no way to confirm that, as that ship had fled Earth's atmosphere with the rest of the fleet, but even the appearance of success was cause for hope.

Heartened as the fifth columnists were by their successes, it was difficult for most of them to stay focused on the immediate tasks at hand and not worry about what awaited them on the surface. Martin had tried his best to project an aura of confidence about the future, but had been hard pressed to find the energy to project anything but a cloak of exhaustion. He'd retreated to a small conference room adjacent to Master Control with a large measure of relief. Alone, he could focus on planning and prioritizing everything they would need to address in the coming weeks without trying to simultaneously pretend he had it all figured out. The numerous decisions he made over the next few days would set the tone for all future relations between his own people and the inhabitants of Earth. Starting wars was so much easier than cleaning up the mess left behind.

"You wanted to see me?" Lorraine asked as the door closed behind her.

Her entrance was a welcome interruption to brooding. He'd never even heard the door slide open and suspected he'd been drifting in a hazy stupor that resided just this side of oblivion. He mentally clawed his way to a higher level of consciousness and wearily gestured for her to be seated in the chair next to him.

"I'd like you to go over this and make sure nothing has been forgotten. See if you agree with the priorities." Martin stood up slowly. "I need to get some sleep."

"Understood." Lorraine nodded her agreement and turned her attention away from the monitor as he walked towards the door. "Don't set an alarm. I'll call you if we need you." Seeing his hesitation, she added, "This may be your only opportunity for several more days. Take the time while you can."

He turned and gazed at her with a feeling of déjà vu. That was exactly what Kim would have told him. "All right," he conceded, unwilling to disagree with both of them, even if only one were physically present.

Shaking off the strange sensation, he exited the room. He walked as briskly as his fatigue would allow, trying to wrench his mind away from thoughts of Kim. He'd missed her presence when she'd left the ship, but adjusted quickly. Since leaving the surface for the final attack, though, he'd found himself thinking of Kim at odd moments, and far more frequently than had ever been the case in the past. This new-found yearning for her company was uncomfortable and unfamiliar. He hoped that sleep would make it more tolerable… until he saw her again.

*****

"EEAaahhh!"

William staggered as Jackie leaped backwards, directly into him, while shrieking and staring in terror at the cupboard door she had been kneeling in front of just seconds before. At first, he thought her scream was due to accidental contact as he tried to slip behind her and retrieve another empty box. Continued exposure to some very racist humans had made him all too aware of the ill will many of the rebels harbored towards his people.

Instinctively, he started to pull away, only to find her clinging to him. In fact, she was using him as protection against whatever had frightened her. Somehow, in the span of a heartbeat, she'd managed to scramble behind him so that he was between her and the offending cabinet.

"Kill it. Eat it, for all I care. Just get it out of there!" she spat as she pointed at the open cupboard.

"What did you see?" William looked carefully at the open doors and saw only stacked cans. He could only assume Jackie's words had been intended as a derogatory comment, and yet she was clinging to him tightly. He filed her request to eat the subject of her terror away for analysis later.

"Creepy-crawlies. Specifically, a spider. Eight legs. Size of my thumbnail. It ran right over my hand!"

"Are spiders dangerous?" he asked, concerned that once again, he was ill prepared for life in California instead of the Middle East. Had the bureaucracy that put him among people with whom he had almost no common language also neglected to warn him of predators that lurked in the homes of humans?

William's question brought Jackie back to the here and now. Jackie felt the immediate fear drain right out of her feet and she leaned heavily on the Visitor for support. "Only a very few are poisonous." She pulled away and wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" He tried to keep the hurt from his voice, but he was now totally confused by her behavior and dismayed that she'd pulled away so quickly. After her initial shock, Harmony hadn't minded touching him. He'd learned to like touching; it made him feel less alone. Even Julie often patted his arm or squeezed his hand sometimes, when she knew he was feeling frustrated by his poor English skills. Now he was alone among Harmony's people, but without her guidance… or her friendship.

"For being so jumpy." Hugging herself tightly, Jackie paced along the row of cabinets with an energy that made the narrow kitchen seem even more confining. "I didn’t used to be like this. It's just…" Her hands waved in the air, gesturing at demons unseen. "I'd swear for a second there I was back in the conversion chamber. And yet I can't remember _anything_ about it."

Suddenly, she slammed her fist down on the counter top, oblivious to the way William was reacting to her agitation. "I _hate_ this." Sliding down until she was hugging her knees to her chest, she added, "I can't go back to the ship. I can't."

She sniffed and wiped her eyes, trying to ignore the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. "Everyone's been talking like the hard part's over. It's just beginning. Fighting for survival? That's easy. You live day-to-day, minute-to-minute. Don't make plans, don't think too much. Just survive. Now… now we have to get on with the business of living. We have to go on. And I have to find a way to deal with the fact I'll never see my son Justin again."

Jackie's voice broke and William had to strain to hear her add, "I'll never know what happened to him."

William stood there, just watching her. He didn't know what to say. And even if he did, the English words would get in the way, teasing him with hidden meanings and strange patterns of phrasing.

She sighed as she stared at the floor. "Why do there have to be wars, Willie? Why can't we just all get along?"

That much he could answer. Those words he knew. Harmony had helped him so much, never thinking he was less intelligent just because he didn't know her language very well. "Hatred is easier," he answered quietly, thinking back to the discussion he'd had with Harmony over just this subject.

Then, his English had been much worse. Harmony had understood, though. She'd sensed how deeply Caleb's reaction to seeing him outside the church had hurt him. All he'd wanted to do was go to his friend and acknowledge the death of his son. Instead, Caleb's fury at the Visitors had focused on the only Visitor present. Harmony had led him away from the scene, taken him somewhere quiet, and talked to him for a long time. She'd waited patiently as he tried to find the words he needed, provided suggestions when she could guess what he was getting at, and then applied her own brand of kindness to the wounds Caleb's outburst had inflicted. They'd talked of hatred and William had argued that hatred was easier than tolerance, because it required nothing but an emotional response.

Jackie thought about that for a minute, and was forced to agree. "I guess so. But what does that say about us? Nothing flattering." She looked at her watch and sighed. They were taking far too long to pack the cupboards and if she indulged in self-pity for too long, they'd never finish. She knew that, once again, she was going to have to stuff her feelings deep inside and function on autopilot until it was safe to let down her guard and actually deal with everything she'd been through. It was getting harder and harder to delay that time of reckoning, but she had to do it a while longer. "We'd better get this finished."

She warily eyed the cabinet that still harbored the offending spider. "So help me, if that thing runs across my hand again… it will be the end of its web-spinning career."

William didn't completely understand what she meant, but knew the sentiment behind her vow. He smiled shyly at her before kneeling in front of the cabinet. "I'll do this cabinet in case any 'creepy crawlies' are still inside," he said, trying out the strange new term Jackie had used.

"Thank you." Jackie was grateful to be spared the task of facing that particular threat again. She was so tired of fighting through every minute of every day for control of her body and mind. With the impending return to the mothership looming over her, she was quite willing to let lesser battles go unfought. She sighed deeply, collecting herself, then stood up. She dusted off the backside of her jeans and reached for a roll of packing tape. Assembling boxes that had been broken down and pressed flat was a task she could handle. Spiders were another matter entirely. With new resolve, she bent to her task.

Neither one of them noticed Ham Tyler retreating quietly down the corridor.

*****

Kim woke to a violent fit of coughing. She sat up, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed, curling up over her knees as she clenched her lower abdomen against the pain that radiated from her incision each time she coughed. Her chest was tight and when the coughing eased, she could feel herself wheezing. _Wonderful,_ she reflected _._ Her nose was itchy, and her throat was raw from drainage. On top of all of the insults her body had endured in recent months, now she was the victim of a random cold virus.

When the coughing fit finally passed, she lay down once more, still holding her tender abdomen with one hand while she pulled the thin blankets up over her shoulders. She lay on her side, forcing herself to relax and breathe slowly. She didn't remember feeling ill earlier. Then again, the last several weeks were a total blur. With all that had happened recently, maybe she hadn't had time to notice the onset of illness.

_Sleep… so tired._ She craved a jar of Vicks VapoRub to massage into her chest and throat. Her mother had always done that at the first symptoms of a cold. Hot chicken soup, a cup of tea with sugar in it, and lots of Vicks. Depending on the symptoms, an array of decongestants, antihistamines, and cough suppressants would be called into action, but nothing in a liquid or pill had that smell she associated with her mother's loving attention when illness struck.

A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and ran across her temple until it was wicked away by the pillowcase. She was a long way from home, years away from being tended to by her late mother. And she ached for someone to take care of her and keep the rest of the world at bay.

"I miss you, Mom," Kim whispered, fighting the urge to surrender to her tears. She'd cried so much already and it didn't do anything to ease the ache deep inside. After a time, she drifted back to sleep.

*****

The silent vibration of his chronometer woke him from a deep sleep. He reached inside his uniform and retrieved the small packet of antitoxin capsules. Even though he'd acquired more from Julie, he was loathe to rely on a handful of pills for continued survival. It was possible that Julie and the other humans would resist his idea to develop a longer-lasting antidote. He mulled it over for a bit before swallowing a capsule and getting up to select a rodent for sustenance.

By the time his contacts were in and his uniform adjusted for duty, he'd determined that the fifth columnists were going to be vaccinated against the red dust. They needed the protection, given the hostile reception they'd likely receive when they finally returned to the surface. The biological weapon had done its job in forcing a temporary retreat of the motherships. Even now, the red dust was providing an extra layer of protection from the loyalists trapped in other sectors of the ship. But Diana was certain to develop a vaccine of her own and distribute it to all of the troops. If they relied on daily antitoxin treatments, the fifth columnists would be at a significant disadvantage.

The matter decided, he returned to the small conference room where he had left Lorraine and reviewed the files she had saved. Her additions to his list of tasks had been well thought out and she'd added comments about how they should be assigned and prioritized. He nodded slightly in silent approval. Working with her was always a pleasure. He transferred Lorraine's finalized list to a portable data unit which he tucked into the vest of his uniform. That done, he leaned back in his chair and keyed open an audio channel to Master Control. "Status report?"

"The first two groups of humans have arrived from the surface, sir."

Martin was surprised to hear an unfamiliar voice answer, and he struggled to associate the name… Zachary. Where was Lorraine?

As if reading his thoughts, Zachary continued. "They sent a security team and their wounded up first. Lorraine went down to the shuttle bay to supervise things and secure any supplies Julie needs for setting up a temporary sick bay. Another shuttle has been dispatched to the surface and is due to return shortly. Someone by the name of Caleb is in charge on the surface, and he requested we send different shuttles each time, so they can load them up with supplies and not waste time unloading them in the bay."

Martin nodded his approval of Caleb's request. The human had probably balked at being placed in a position of leadership, but had apparently accepted the necessity. No doubt, Damian and the others were supporting him with suggestions and guidance… he expected no less… but it was good to hear that his faith in Caleb was being validated.

Zachary's narrative continued with reports on the progress with repairs, as well as the fact that the new shift rotations had been adopted and everyone was feeling more rested. "Understood," Martin replied after Zachary had finished his report. "I'll be working from here for now, but I can come up to Master Control if you need me," he added before closing the channel and opening an audio/visual connection to the controller's booth of the occupied landing bay.

After a delay long enough to make Martin wonder if the booth was even staffed, Anthony finally answered. "Congratulations on taking over the ship."

"Lorraine gets the credit. She figured out how to disarm the self-destruct unit," Martin replied. "Who's with you?"

"Just Megan, and she's injured. Kim had to amputate her foot, but Megan's holding up decently. We lost Philip during the attack. The others are still on the surface helping to load the supplies. We're using three of the tankers as medical bays: one for the humans, one for us, one as a laboratory/stockroom."

Anthony paused, looking off-screen. He disappeared from view for a moment, then returned. "I was closing the door so the others don't overhear this," he explained.

Martin nodded slightly, waiting for him to continue.

"We've got a decent supply of the antitoxin down here, but eventually it's going to run out. Rather than making more, I've been thinking we should go for a vaccine instead." Anthony looked away, peering out into the shuttle bay where Julie was supervising the transfer of one of her patients to the designated tanker and then he looked back towards the viewscreen. "I know some of the rebels won't like the idea, but frankly, I don't think we should be trusting our lives to a bunch of pills. And we have to assume that Diana has a sample of the toxin and will work on her own treatments for the troops."

A slight smile softened the intensity of Martin's gaze. "I was thinking the same thing. Can you do it?"

Anthony shook his head. "It's outside my area, and I haven't even had the time to research it. Kim can help, but she's already holed up in a shuttle poring over the medical database to figure out what drugs are safe for humans. She and Julie seem to think that they have several wounded that are at risk for some fatal infection called 'tetanus' and another one called 'peritonitis'… or something like that." He waved his hands, dismissing the strange terms as he continued, "And frankly, she's in no shape to be out of bed. Weak as she is, she hauled herself around treating Megan and several others. She's still fussing over them and was adamant about coming up with this first round of wounded. She looks pretty bad and I'd rather not ask her to take this on, too."

Martin absorbed that without any outward reaction other than nodding his agreement. "How about recruiting some loyalists?"

"That could work, but how do we make sure it's a valid vaccine and not something else?"

"Because we'll test it on them first. If I put together a list of candidates, can you suggest who is most trustworthy?"

"I'll try. I may not know some of them, but I should be able to eliminate a few radicals, at least." Anthony leaned closer to the viewscreen and continued in a lowered voice, "I don't think we should tell the humans about this yet. A lot of them still don’t trust us and may think we're trying to undermine them."

"I agree. For now, let them think we're continuing with the antitoxin. If supplies get low, have them prepare another batch. We might still use it with limited numbers of loyalists. I'll let you know as soon as I have a list of candidates that are likely to still be alive and on this ship."

As soon as Anthony closed the channel, he keyed up the personnel files and settled in for a long reading session.


	6. A Baby Whale

Caleb watched Ham and Chris turn into mere dots as Damian piloted the last shuttle away from the base that had been home for the last few weeks. When the clouds finally obscured his view, he sank back into his seat and closed his eyes. He wasn't disappointed that the two independent operatives had elected to continue their work on the surface.

They'd decided that the L.A. Air Force Base was the most secure point from which to release human prisoners while keeping rioters and press at bay. Of course, there was the minor point of getting the military to cooperate, but Ham had smiled coldly and commented that it would not be a problem, though Caleb thought he looked a touch disappointed when Caleb had simply let the matter drop.

He wasn't going to mind one bit when the yoke of leadership fell once again upon Julie's shoulders. Right now, he just wanted to find Elias and tell him how proud he'd made his old man. Then he could go back to helping out where he was needed and letting someone far more qualified make the important decisions.

After a time, he opened his eyes. The shuttle had moved out over the ocean and broken through the clouds. It was impossible to judge distance when the only point of reference was the vast ocean spread out below them. Following additional repairs to the engines, Martin had stationed the mothership about a hundred miles out to sea, hovering over the surface of the water like it had over L.A. for so many months. Their altitude was low enough to remove the risk of decompression through the weakened hull, and if the repaired engines should fail, they'd fall into the ocean without harming the city's inhabitants. Caleb suspected that there was a psychological motive as well: the lurking presence of the ship over the city had been an effective way to intimidate the natives. Moving off shore would help diminish the impact of the ship’s continued presence in Earth's atmosphere, while still permitting shuttle access.

Bored, he glanced over at Damian. The Visitor was completely focused on his task of piloting the shuttle. It was hypnotic, watching the Visitor's hands move over the console, adjusting settings and pressing buttons that somehow allowed this strange transport to defy the laws of gravity and float its way to a given destination.

He could tell that Damian was conversing quietly with someone on the mothership, using the communications unit in his helmet. It seemed like a lifetime, not days, since Martin had used the same method to contact the mothership and get clearance to bring a toxin-laden shuttle into the landing bay.

Unaware of the scrutiny he had been under, or perhaps aware but choosing to ignore it, Damian glanced at him. "Martin wants us to meet him up near master control.”

Caleb shook his head. "You've got Julie and Mike now. You don't need me for the leadership game anymore.”

Damian smiled. "Julie is busy tending the wounded, Donovan is unresponsive, Tyler isn't here. Besides, Elias is up in master control. I checked."

"Blackmail?"

"Incentive," Damian replied evenly, ignoring the warning tone in Caleb's voice.

Caleb's eyebrow shot up. "I'm glad you're on our side."

Damian just smiled wider before he returned his attention to the ship's controls.

*****

"We can't afford that luxury right now. There are too few of us as it is," Martin argued, getting up from his chair to pace inside the confines of the conference room.

"All the more reason we have to protect you," Lorraine countered as she watched him pace. She was sitting quietly, leaning sideways to prop her arm on the table that was between herself and where Martin had been working. She accepted his rare show of temper silently, recognizing he wasn’t angry at her but was balking at the trappings of a leadership he didn’t want.

"The fifth column will survive without me." He stopped for a moment, rubbing his temples. "Look at everything you accomplished in my absence."

"And what of your work on the surface?" she countered smoothly. "You've built ties with the humans, coordinating the efforts of both sides." Lorraine got up and went to stand before him, willing him to concede. " _You're_ in command. We have to assume that the loyalists will strike back at us, sabotaging our work the same way we've been sabotaging them. That makes _you_ their primary target. I'm not suggesting an entire team, I realize we don't have the numbers for that. I'm asking you to accept two guards on alternate shifts. Isaac is a logical choice, but he's been very useful to me with the computer repairs, so I think Zachary and Valerie would be best."

Her comment about Isaac gave Martin an idea. "I'll concede on one condition."

"And that is?"

"Isaac and Eileen guard _you._ " Martin shrugged disarmingly. "Your argument is sound. But since you're second in command, you're also a target… by your own reasoning."

She locked eyes with him for a long moment, then nodded. "Agreed." If accepting her own guard got him to do the same, she'd do it without argument. Besides, there was nothing to say Isaac couldn't continue to work with her on the computer systems while also protecting her.

"I also want you to go get some sleep," Martin continued. "You and I should alternate shifts, too. I'll have Anthony look at your shoulder as soon as we get everyone on board."

"He already did when I was in the landing bay. He changed the temporary bandage, but there isn't much else to be done at the moment. We need access to a sick bay, and we won't get that until we secure this sector of the ship," Lorraine explained, too tired to argue for staying on duty. Martin was right; they both needed their rest and now that the rebels were relocating from the surface, they could start pacing themselves better. Her shoulder hurt, her eyes were fatigued from wearing the contacts for too long, and the energy she'd derived from the urgency of their precarious situation had long since faded away. It was a relief to be sent to bed, and she wasted no time in following her commander’s orders.

Martin watched her go and then sank slowly into the chair at his workstation. There were so many tasks that were urgent it was difficult to prioritize them properly. He hoped the rebels from the surface would all arrive shortly so they could start focusing on the larger tasks at hand.

*****

"Kevin, don't you want anything to eat? Are you hungry?" Kim asked gently. Her heart broke anew when Kevin shook his head and slouched further down in his seat without making any effort to look at her.

She sighed but didn't press the issue. He had been equally unresponsive to suggestions he leave the shuttle and play with the other children. Ever since his father's funeral, Kevin had withdrawn into himself and was allowing no one to draw him out. He refused to play, rarely ate, and never spoke. He was obedient to a fault, never resisting any of Kim's directives or her occasional requests for help fetching supplies when she cared for the infants. But otherwise, Kevin was coping by shutting down.

She understood the psychology, but she wanted to do more than understand it; she wanted to repair the damage. She was careful to touch him gently, always offering opportunities for a hug or other contact, but letting him lead their silent dance, aside from the backrubs she gave him to lull him to sleep. All the while, she mulled over new approaches, new ways to reassure him that he was going to have adults to turn to for help. But as of now, none of it seemed to matter.

Kim shifted in her seat as she studied the boy, grateful that Katherine and Jeffrey were both sleeping so she could focus on Kevin for a time. She'd completed what she could accomplish as far as drug research and given the results to Anthony and Julie. Her patients had been assigned to less weary caregivers, freeing her to retreat to her own shuttle for rest… while caring for two newborns and an orphaned five-year-old. At least she wasn't coughing as much.

Rest. She certainly needed more of that. And while the twins were certain to wake soon, she'd be a fool to let this opportunity for a nap pass her by. Kevin’s problems weren’t going to be solved in the immediate future, not matter how badly she wanted to help. "I'm going to lie down and rest. Would you like to draw or color while I take a nap?"

Kevin shook his head. It was the only indication she had that he'd even heard her.

"I'll leave this paper and crayons out in case you change your mind. And if you get scared or need anything, it's okay to wake me up. I want you to wake me up if you need me. I won't be mad, okay?"

Kevin nodded, still staring at his shoelaces.

Frustrated that she could do no more, Kim stretched out on a bunk and quickly lapsed into deep sleep.

*****

The door chimed and Martin activated the intercom button from his desk.

"Zachary reporting for duty, sir."

Martin closed the connection and flipped another switch that opened the door. He motioned Zachary to an adjacent workstation and returned his attention to his work.

Zachary hesitated. Guards were generally posted in the corridor; occasionally they were told to stand inside the door. He'd never heard of a guard sitting down at a workstation. "Sir?"

Martin looked up, knowing full well what Zachary was thinking. He smiled slightly at the young soldier. "I promised Lorraine I'd accept a guard. I never agreed to have you languishing in the corridor while there is work to be done."

*****

"It's _cold_ in here!" Caleb exclaimed as he walked down the shuttle ramp and into the landing bay. He shivered and watched his breath dissipate in the frosty air. Nearby, the last two shuttles settled gently to the floor inside the cavernous bay.

Following right behind him, Mike spoke for the first time since they'd left the surface. "They had to cut power to just about everything but navigation," he explained. "But the cold's got most of the crew taking a nice, long nap."

"Then I shouldn't complain." Caleb sighed. "I suppose we should head up to master control."

"You'll want this," Damian said as he joined the pair and handed Caleb a vest before donning one himself. "It's heated," he added in explanation when Caleb stared at him blankly.

Caleb accepted the apparel with a nod and glanced questioningly at Mike.

"I've already got mine." The news cameraman pointed out the buttons in the hem of his own vest in answer while his eyes surveyed the room. "Where's Julie?"

"Right here.” She squeezed his arm in empathy before smiling at Caleb and Damian. "I'm bowing out of the planning session. Robert and I are keeping busy treating the wounded and I need to start preparing another batch of antitoxin." For Caleb's sake, she added, "Martin has been using it as leverage to get the cooperation of some loyalists. I'll be here if you need me."

*****

After a detour to master control for a brief reunion with Elias, Caleb and Mike followed Damian through the nondescript corridors of the mothership to a door panel that seemed identical to all of the ones they had passed. Damian activated the door chime, then stepped aside to allow the humans to enter first.

Martin rose, greeting them just inside the still-opening doors. "Caleb, Donovan," he said, nodding to each of them and then to Damian. "Where's Ham?" Martin was surprised he wasn't in attendance.

"He and Chris stayed on the surface. They're working to secure the L.A. Air Force Base and get them working with us to release prisoners," Caleb replied, looking around at the nearly empty conference room. "Where's Lorraine?"

"Sleeping. We're taking shifts now that the crisis is past."

"Hmgh." Caleb's demeanor turned seemingly hostile. "You put me in charge again without warning me first, you'll have another crisis on your hands." Twinkling eyes told Martin he wasn't really mad at the Visitor.

"Noted," Martin replied, gesturing them all to chairs around the table. "This is Zachary." The Visitor in question hesitated in his seat, unsure if he was to rise and greet the humans, remain for the conference, or assume his post in the corridor. "As you were," Martin murmured to him.

Damian sat down first, smoothly pressing buttons that allowed a monitor to flip up from a hidden panel in the tabletop and activate the workstation before him.

"How'd you do that?" Mike asked, showing signs of life as he watched the alien technology at work. He ran his hand over the table's surface, looking for the trigger that would bring his own monitor into view.

"Right here," Damian answered, pointing out the control pad on the underside of the table's edge. Once Mike was satisfied, he returned to his own keyboard and began working on a self-assigned task.

"Where do we start?" Caleb asked, less enchanted with the technology and more interested in getting to work.

Martin obliged him. "Is everyone from the base now on-board?"

"And all the supplies from the base we could load in the shuttles," Caleb confirmed.

"Good." Martin's fingers flew over the console, and text began to scroll across their monitors. "I know you two can't read this, but I want you to double check what I've prepared." Martin used his eyes to indicate the humans and Damian in turn. "Lorraine and I have put together a list of the damaged systems, plus our immediate and long-term priorities. I've recorded a short audio message we've started broadcasting to the surface, but it doesn’t say much beyond the fact we took control of this ship and that the other ships have left the atmosphere. From the reports we've monitored from the surface, there is a lot of confusion and unrest."

"Ham said there were riots in downtown L.A. There's a power vacuum at the moment," Caleb added.

Martin nodded. "Unfortunately, we can't do much about that at present. " He leaned back in his chair and referred to his monitor.

Zachary spoke for the first time. "I think Elaine is cross-referencing the federal government employment lists with Diana's records of conversion."

"Good. I know the President and Vice President both visited the Washington, D.C. ship multiple times," Martin mused. He looked to the humans. "Who would be next in line?”

Caleb and Mike looked helplessly at each other, embarrassed at their uncertainty about their own government's workings. "I think the Speaker of the House?" Mike supplied.

Martin glanced over to Zachary. "Notify Elaine." He returned his attention to the monitor and keyboard. The alien script disappeared, replaced by a circular diagram of the ship. "Three engines working at present, which is above the minimum required for normal operations, but none of them are at full power. There is structural damage and two cases of a hull breach in two different sectors." The two sectors in question flashed blue. "The red dust didn't reach the whole ship, so the remaining seven sectors, which are yellow, are still in loyalist control. The sector we're in is secure only in the upper and lower levels, so one priority is to safeguard ourselves and find any loyalists who escaped the toxin and evaded hibernation. Then we can use the crew quarters and move the casualties up to a sick bay in our control.

"Damian, how long will it take to restore the computer systems?"

"The hacking has already been reversed. From what I see so far, we're operating from the secondary backups. Internal communications are back on line, external is audio only." He pressed more buttons and the view on his own screen changed in rapid sequence as he checked various systems. “The biggest problem is physical damage to the processors. A lot of the circuitry was completely destroyed, including the main system and primary backup systems. Our processing capacity is down to 9%, well below minimum specs. Most of that is being used for essential systems. Helm response is reliable but delayed. Life support is holding, but only because we're using the atmospheric ducts rather than the internal refresh systems. That's the good news."

Damian leaned back in his seat, shaking his head slowly. He'd never expected to see a ship still functioning under the current conditions. "If we lose any more processing capacity, we're done. Best we can hope for with on-site repairs is 15%. As we empty the storage pods, we'll reclaim another 10%, but we can expect to also lose capacity to other problems that are bound to arise."

"Can we keep things going long enough to get everyone out?" Caleb wanted to know.

Damian nodded hesitantly, continuing to scan his screen for data. "There's no guarantee, but I think so. At least as far as the computers." He turned to Martin. "How long until the ship starts falling apart?"

"Assuming we know about all of the structural damage, we'll be okay if we stay within the atmosphere."

"Or with our luck, until the first storm rips through," Caleb muttered before continuing in a normal voice. "Since we're working against the clock, it seems to me we should start reviving people as soon as we can and use the added computer power to keep the ship going."

Martin nodded his agreement. "There are processing facilities in this sector, but first I think we need to establish control on the different levels so we can work in safety. After that, we can start the revival process while continuing on to secure the other sectors of the ship.”

"So let’s go make it secure," Mike said, shoving his chair back from the table and standing up. "I'm tired of sitting around."

"That's not why you're here, Mike," Martin said quietly, looking up to gaze calmly at the agitated human.

Mike threw up his hands and started pacing behind Caleb. "That's right. How could I forget that you already know all about murder and warfare, conquering, and controlling the masses? You sure don't need our advice for that!"

 "Mike!" Caleb warned, only to be silenced by a glance and slight headshake from Martin.

"You're right." Martin's voice had a professional calmness that starkly contrasted with Mike's outburst. He waited for the human to calm down enough to look at him before he continued, "What I don't know is how to best prepare your planet for the next stage of the war without any motherships, a few dozen shuttles, inferior weapons, and a civilian population that has no concept of why they need to fight back."

"What the hell do you want me to do?"

"Act like a journalist." Martin pointed to the chair Mike had vacated. "And sit down."

"I didn't bring my camera," Mike snapped sarcastically as he obeyed.

Unfazed, Martin leaned back in his chair and began to explain his plans. "You won’t need it. Virtually every part of the mothership is under surveillance. The sound and image files are archived to a separate computer system that Lorraine has verified is undamaged. I want you to work with Megan to put together a narrative explaining the truth of the invasion that we can broadcast to the surface. Unfortunately, you shouldn't have any trouble finding plenty of evidence. I'll leave it to you to decide how much of the graphic material to edit out. When you're done with that, I want you to put together an unedited version documenting war crimes to give to your United Nations. And if possible, collect any evidence you can about fifth column activity. It will be difficult, but we need to be able to prove the fifth column is real if we have any hope of protecting the columnists that were stranded on the surface."

"There are recordings of people being tortured?" Mike's voice shook slightly.

Martin nodded solemnly. " _All_ ship activities, including prisoner torture."

"Even crew quarters? Talk about putting a damper on your love life!" Caleb shook his head, imagining what it would be like to be under constant surveillance.

"We're accustomed to the cameras," Damian clarified. "I doubt anyone but the fifth column pays them any attention."

"And you want all of that broadcast to the planet?" Mike was taken aback at the thought of what he was likely to see in the various recordings.

Martin gazed back at him blandly. "Use your judgment. The archives will only contain audio and video data for approximately three Earth weeks, but that should be enough to work with. "

"Wait a minute…" Mike's journalistic nature came to the forefront. "When Barbara helped me escape, how come that didn't blow her cover right then?"

"It's not practical to view all of the recordings every day. Generally, the potential alone keeps the crew in line. In a case like your escape, another fifth columnist made sure the cameras in your cell block were malfunctioning that day. There was no recording to show what had happened, and Barbara _had_ been shot. Steven had no choice but to accept her account." Martin looked away, remembering that day as well as the numerous other times when Barbara had risked so much for the fifth column’s goals. Her untimely death had been such a loss of her gifts and talents.

“What do you want me to do?” Caleb asked, interrupting Martin’s fatigued reverie.

“Liaise with the human prisoners as we revive them. They’re going to be disoriented and frightened, so it will be best if we minimize their contact with the crew, except for necessities like piloting shuttles to the surface. Organize teams that will give small groups of them a briefing and escort them back to the surface. Their clothing is all in general storage, according to size and gender. There’s no chance of getting their originals back to them, but they’ll have something to wear at least.” Martin leaned back in his chair and continued, “And lastly, I want you to work with Ham to handle how they should be released once at the base. I expect you’ll need to involve the media at some point, but the timing is up to you.”

Caleb nodded, pondering how to best proceed. “Ham won’t like it, but we’ll need to notify the Salvation Army and Red Cross. They can help with the logistics on the ground. But I think it would be best to wait until we have a hundred or so people back on the surface. It’ll serve as proof that we’re telling the truth.” Caleb smiled as an idea came to him. “Actually, let’s hand-pick the first couple of hundred people we send to the surface. Is there enough data in the computers that we can do that?”

Damian nodded. “At least, there used to be.” He typed quickly, accessing the databases relating to human prisoners. “From what I can tell, the stored data is intact; we’re just limited to what we can access by the damage to the processors. What information do you want?”

“Names, home addresses, ages,” Caleb said.

“It’s all there,” Damian said. “Do you intend to go through the individual files and pick people?”

“Only if we have to. Can the computers handle a limited search? If we can revive families, based on addresses, and then alert friends and relatives on the surface to come meet them, that should give us some credibility after they’re reunited.” Caleb looked at Mike and continued, “Sounds like a media opportunity to me. How do we get them to show up?”

“They’ll probably be there regardless,” Mike said. “If you want, I can call the local station manager with a heads-up.”

“What other kinds of information do you have on record?” Caleb asked out of curiosity.

Damian typed briefly, then translated the screen’s display. “Name, home address, gender, occupation, age, body type, estimated level of fitness, language spoken.”

“Occupation, hmm? Forget the Salvation Army, Red Cross, and the media; we don’t need them or the bureaucracy they'll bring with them. Instead, we should revive a couple dozen religious leaders first. They’ll be our orientation team,” Caleb said. “They’re used to being in charge, they’re generally well respected, and they’re well connected in their neighborhoods. We start by reviving them, followed by people they know. Move on to unknowns as we get more efficient. Once we have enough people back on the surface, we’ll have earned a bit of trust. Then we can get more help if we need it. Damian, start a search for ‘priest,’ ‘minister,’ ‘rabbi,’ ‘Imam,’ and ‘cleric’ in this sector.”

It took only a few moments for him to get results. “I see seventeen on file… one is deceased,” Damian said and then continued to work, shaking his head slightly at what he was seeing. “And all but one of the sixteen survivors are male.”

“Welcome to the U.S.A.,” Mike muttered. “Fifty years ago, they’d have _all_ been men.”

“ _White_ men,” Caleb added. It wasn’t exactly true, he knew, but that wasn’t the point.

“We can have that discussion another time,” Martin said. “Is there anything else we need to consider before we start securing this sector?” When no one added anything, Martin stood up and looked at Mike. “Megan is in the shuttle bay recovering from injuries. You two can use one of the shuttles to access the main computer systems to get started. They lack recording equipment, but you can move to those facilities when you’re ready, after we have them secured. Your first priority is the general broadcast, then the one for the United Nations. Damian, send the results of that search file to the computer in the primary processing station in this sector. Organize a fifth column team qualified to begin the revival process and put Caleb in charge of them. After that, do whatever you need to do to keep these computers working. Zachary and I will go down to the shuttle bay and organize a team to secure this sector. We’ll work in twelve hour shifts for now and give updates to whoever is in master control every four hours to maintain continuity. Questions?”

Martin waited a moment and was met with silence. “Then I’ll see you later." He stood up and went to the door, pausing to allow Zachary to exit first. "Mike?"

"I'm coming."

Caleb watched the newsman sullenly follow Martin from the room and slowly shook his head. "Actin' like his momma gave him a whipping," he commented, then turned to Damian. “Exactly how long do you think all of this is going to take?”

“Several weeks.” Damian said. “A few days to secure the ship and to begin the revival process but several weeks to get everyone back to the surface.”

It wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear, but he wasn’t surprised, either. Caleb sighed, sat a moment longer, then slowly got to his feet. “It won’t go any faster if we sit around.” With that comment, he headed into the corridor. He didn’t know where he was going, but he trusted that Damian would follow shortly. They couldn’t wait around for Mike to pull himself together, that much was certain. And Julie seemed determined to focus on medical cases, not the details of warfare. For the time being, it appeared that the humans were relying entirely on the fifth column for leadership. And as much as he liked Martin, Caleb wasn’t certain that the visitor was equipped to manage the eccentric needs of a volunteer army of humans. On the other hand, Caleb wasn't eager to be in charge either. It was bad enough he was now responsible for managing the revival of thousands of humans and returning them to the surface. Had he actually agreed to that? Caleb rubbed the back of his neck, trying to massage the soreness and fatigue out of the muscles. It was beginning to feel like sending the Visitors away from Earth was the easy part.

*****

Candace leaned on the railing of the small fishing boat and watched for any dolphins that might keep pace with them as she smiled to herself. For the first time in her life, she was actually happy. She was seriously considering going back to school to get her high school equivalency certificate. And after that? Maybe she could do something in law enforcement, especially undercover work. She had Paul to thank for making her believe in the possibility of a future for herself… at least on the good days.

A grey whale calf breached beside them, distracting her from her thoughts.

"What was that?" Paul straightened up in alarm, having caught sight of a large creature, followed by a larger splash, out of the corner of his eye from his seat in the middle of the vessel.

"A baby whale and perfectly harmless." Candace held out her hand for Paul, inviting him to join her at the railing, without taking her eyes off of the water. Only when she felt his cool fingers slip into her own did she turn to look at him. "A lot of people pay money to get a chance to see this, and usually don't get this close. We're really lucky." Her gentle chiding was softened by her sympathetic gaze that was visible even through their respective sunglasses. Paul hadn't been comfortable with the idea of boarding the boat, and had grown even less enthusiastic when fitted with a life vest.

"Lucky?" Paul let go of Candy and braced himself with the railing. The constant motion was making him ill.

"Look, there's the mom, coming up between us and her baby."

As if on cue, the whale took a fresh breath, then rolled onto her side to get a better look at the boat's occupants. A large, dark eye gazed at up from the water.

Paul was shocked at the knowing in the gaze that was sizing him up. For the first time since they'd left land, he forgot his discomfort, if only for a moment. Gripping the railing more tightly, he leaned forward for a closer look. The mother lifted her rostrum, flexed her tail, and then they were gone.

They scanned the water in silence for several minutes before Paul finally spoke. "Do you think we'll see any more of them?"

"Dunno. I've never been out here before."

Paul kept his grip on the railing, but shifted to look at the young woman. "You said before you've spent your whole life in the city, you know several people on the docks, and you've never been out here?"

She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the horizon and shrugged her left shoulder. "Never had the money. Besides, my parents weren't exactly big on family outings…. They were either working to pay the rent, drinking to forget the rent was overdue, or beating up on us kids."

"Is that how you learned how to fight?" More than once, he'd bandaged her wounds and applied ice to her bruises. It seemed she had a knack for attracting men who liked to indulge in violence, not realizing their petite punching bag would strike back with surprising effectiveness.

"No." Candy laughed bitterly. "You don't fight back when your ol' man is whipping you. That’s when you learn how to take it and not show how much it hurts." She looked down at her hands, continuing softly. "I learned to fight in reform school. That's where they send kids like me, supposedly to straighten me out. What I really learned was how to fend for myself. And the times I've been on the boats, it wasn’t for sailing lessons. We never left the dock."

"Did you learn about prostitution in reform school, too?"

"No." Candy shook her head, staring at the water below them with unseeing eyes. "By the time I was fourteen, I was fed up with the system and left. …Had nowhere to go, stayed on the streets. I didn't have a plan other than staying out of the drug scene. Brandie found me, half starved…. she offered to teach me the ropes and got me into doing mostly out-calls. Said she'd been where I was, and it was tough to go it alone. Not that our lives with Johnny were easy… but I've seen a lot of girls go through worse. I don't go hungry and I have a bed to sleep in." Her eyes finally moved skyward, looking at the mothership hovering several meters off the surface of the water, still off in the distance. "At least now, I'm useful."

"Indispensable."

"How do you _do_ that?" she turned to him, fixing him with an inquisitive stare.

"Do what?"

"Get me talking about my past. Then you make it seem okay, like I’m special even though I’m not. There are a thousand girls just like me all over L.A. -- all just trying' to survive."

"You _are_ special, Candy. You're here, helping me, the whole fifth column."

"That's just doing the right thing. That doesn't mean I'm--"

Paul cut her off, even went so far as to remove one hand from the railing to cup her cheek. "Don't you understand that what you call 'doing the right thing,' despite great personal risk and sacrifice, _is_ special? And the fact that you don't even realize it makes _you_ special."

"Or stupid."

Paul shook his head. "You're _not_ stupid. If you had worn those silly shoes with the high heels while dragging me on to this undersized bucket that never stops moving, then maybe I'd think otherwise. But you wore sneakers, so you can't be stupid."

She rewarded him with a genuine laugh and leaned against him, pulling his free hand around her as she did so. "Paul, I love you." She squeezed him gently. "And I mean that in the best possible way."

He returned the gesture, pulling her incrementally closer. "I know you do, and it's mutual."

*****

Damian took Caleb back to master control, then to the bridge lounge. "It's going to take some time to get a team organized. You'd better sleep while you can," he advised, pointing out key features of the dimly lit room. "There's food in cold storage over there. Take any bunk that's open."

"Damned strange first assignment, if you ask me." Caleb commented, keeping his voice low in deference to those who were already sleeping.

"You'll be glad you did. I'll let you know when we're ready." Damian turned on his heel and walked briskly to the conference room nearby, checked his chronometer, then calculated how long he needed to wait to be guaranteed a few precious minutes of privacy. Satisfied with his plan, he got to work, knowing that total concentration would help make the minutes rush by.

*****

"Why didn't you just use a permanent bandage?"

"Because I have to be sure you heal from the inside out." Kim fought the temptation to make comments about her own inexperience and uncertainty with every step of the process. This wasn't the time to remind Megan that her total surgical experience was with two mice in an undergraduate laboratory exercise… several years before, and digging a bullet out of Alan's leg. It had been easier yesterday, when Megan had been too drugged and sore to watch her change the bandages. "Don't look; it's always worse when you watch this stuff on yourself." Mentally, she berated herself for not putting something soft on the shuttle floor to give her knees some relief while she knelt.

"I want to know how bad it is."

"You're alive, which is more than you might be under different circumstances." Kim used her forearm to wipe sweat from her forehead before removing the final layer of blood soaked gauze. Another coughing fit interrupted her work. She rocked back on her heels and turned her head, keeping her gloved hands far away from her face. The way her sides hurt, she was beginning to think she had pneumonia. Sounds moved further away and she felt Megan catch her upper arms, steadying her. After the coughing passed, she tried to breathe slowly. The blackness at the edge of her field of vision faded. "I'm okay."

Megan released her and they both turned their attention back to their task. Kim nodded to herself, running warm saline solution over the rows of stitches and catching the waste in a small container. Initially, the liquid was dark green, but it only took a half-liter before the water ran clear, free of new blood, old clots, and oozing pus. Overall, it looked better than she'd hoped it would when she'd put those stitches two days before. "So far, so good."

Megan said nothing, prompting Kim to look up. The fifth columnist had turned her face towards the wall. Her mask showed no emotion. Chewing on her lower lip, Kim gently placed fresh gauze over the stitches, wound the limb with additional layers, and gently taped it all in place.

She stuffed the used bandages into a small garbage bag then took off her gloves, placing them with the other waste. Mindful of her knees and aching sides, she carefully stood up and sat on the bunk opposite Megan. Her eyes drifted aimlessly, not seeing, as her mind returned to another time, in another life. "After his accident, when Marc was in the hospital, facing a life of total paralysis, another quadriplegic came to see us. She was young, barely out of her teens. But she had this aura about her… like she was an old soul reincarnated into a new.… And she was painfully blunt. She wheeled right up to Marc's bed and said 'I’m Jill and this sucks. But I’m here to tell you that the water isn't changed by the container. A cup of water can be in a diamond chalice or a rusty tin can. It's the same water. Yeah, someone just broke your chalice and now you're stuck with the tin can. It sucks, big time. But you're still you. Don't forget it.' And then she turned her chair around and left before Marc could curse her out…. He wasn't ready to hear that yet. Maybe you aren't either. But you need someone tell you that Jill was right."


	7. Lorraine

"Take the shot!" "I’m open!" Martin and Zachary exchanged a concerned look as they approached the landing bay and drew their weapons as a precaution. "Sorry pal, didn't mean to knock you down." "Score! Two points for the falcons!"

"Basketball game." Mike offered as an explanation, still sullen and bringing up the rear.

Zachary emerged from the service duct first, nodding acknowledgement to Drew, who was currently on guard duty and had a laser rifle aimed at the access panel he'd just swung open. Only then were he and Martin able to see the source of the alarming dialogue- a group of teenagers was playing some sort of game with a bouncing ball in a clear corner of the landing bay. A couple of adults stood near the game area, keeping younger children from wandering into the path of the running teens.

"See? Basketball, Just like I told you."

Martin looked around and observed numerous changes since the last time he'd been here. Most of the shuttles were parked around the perimeter with their narrow ends against the bulkheads rather than in the neat rows he was accustomed to seeing. The few shuttles that were still in the central area were clearly serving as boundaries between different areas, presumably with different uses assigned to each.

He located Alan and directed him into the controller's booth, leaving Mike to wander the bay on his own. Once he and Alan were at the console, he pulled up the ship's diagram on the computer. "I want you to form a team, including the humans, and start securing this sector. Lorraine has been monitoring from master control, and so far at least, we have no obvious signs of resistance. You'll need to be very thorough, search every compartment and include the service ducts as well. " He pointed to the screen. "Once we have control up through this level here we'll be able to start reviving humans. Work with Damian- he's in master control- and see if you can locate someone trustworthy for the actual revival. We'll only use unknown crew under close supervision as a last resort and under threat of death. I'm putting Caleb in charge of handling the humans once they are awake, so you'll need to notify him when you're ready. Laura is currently supervising a team on engine repairs, and we don't know that those crewmembers can be trusted, but you can put them to work with the actual movement of the storage pods.

"Lastly, you need to get in contact with Ham Tyler on the surface and see if they are ready to accept humans for release. Caleb has a plan for selecting those most helpful to us so the first humans revived will be aiding us on the surface, and possibly here on the ship as well. I expect Julie will be able to tell you how to contact Ham. If not, Caleb might know."

Martin fought the temptation to rub the back of his neck and ease the growing muscle tension. There were too many years of training to allow that indulgence while on duty, even under the current circumstances. "Alan, are there any shuttles that are unused and empty? I need to go to the surface and meet with Paul. If I run into trouble, I don't want the humans' supplies lost."

"Maybe you should send someone else."

Martin shook his head at the suggestion. "I'll be all right. It would be difficult for anyone to arrange an ambush this far from shore with only one boat." Once again, he was deeply grateful to the women Paul was with for their sound advice. Given the chaos of the city, it had been their suggestion to move off shore for a meeting. While getting to the docks wouldn’t be easy for Paul, Martin's shuttle would not be noticed and a thus not a catalyst for further violence.

Alan used the computer to pull up the list of shuttles and their respective positions in the bay. "This is our medical shuttle for humans, and the one next to it is for us. Megan's there now. This cluster is for sleeping; Kim has the shuttle in the corner to herself. Over here, the shuttles are primarily loaded with supplies from the surface. And these two, as far as I know, are empty and unused."

"Fuel status?"

"I don't know. You'd better check them over for external damage, too."

"Understood. Check in with Lorraine periodically to keep her apprised of your progress, but don’t compromise your safety to do so. And keep in mind that there may be traps in place. Getting this sector under control is key to our long-term plans, so don't get impatient... Is everyone on a 12 hour duty cycle?"

"Yes."

"Good. Don’t compromise on sleep, either. Questions?"

Alan shook his head.

Without another word, Martin dismissed him and led Zachary to Megan's shuttle.

 

****

 

The form doubled over at the bottom of the ramp to Megan's shuttle was wracked with coughing. Her dark, unkempt hair hung limply around her face and it took a moment for Martin to realize who it was. He knelt beside her, concerned by her obviously poor health. "Kim?"

"Ask Julie. Albuterol inhaler," she managed to get out. The tightness in her chest had worsened into wheezing and she felt like she was slowly suffocating.

"Albuterol?"

Kim nodded, wracked again by coughing.

"Zachary, you heard her. Have Julie find some albuterol." Trusting the young columnist to follow orders, Martin turned his focus to helping Kim breathe. He left her momentarily, long enough to retrieve an emergency respirator from the first aid station in the shuttle bay bulkhead. With the efficiency of years of practice drills, and a few real-life emergencies, he snapped an oxygen cartridge into place and returned to Kim. He pressed the face piece over her nose and mouth as he pulled her against him, letting her rest against his chest while waiting for unit to do its job. He rubbed her back in slow, rhythmic strokes, matching the tempo of respiration she was attempting to maintain between fits of coughing.

"How long have you been sick?"

She held up three fingers.

"Three days… could this be connected to the red dust?"

Kim shrugged her shoulders. The idea hadn't occurred to her. Right now, she just wanted to breathe. After several minutes of breathing the oxygen, her peripheral vision was reemerging from the darkness. "Be careful."

"What do you mean?"

"Being seen with me." She paused to get more air. "Protect your credibility with the loyalists."

"I know." He quickly glanced around to double check that no one was observing them. "So you're saying you staged this just to get my attention?" he teased gently.

Kim started to laugh, which triggered more coughing instead. She settled for shaking her head, savoring these few moments where she could lean against him without explanation.

"What happened?" Julie came running around the end of the adjacent shuttle, an inhaler in hand. Dropping to her knees, she handed over the device, which Kim used before replacing the oxygen supply over her face. "What's that?"

"Oxygen," Martin explained.

"Kim, since when do you have asthma?" Julie asked, starting to take Kim's vital signs. "You're warm. I think you have a fever. ."

"No asthma," Kim said softly. "Maybe pneumonia." After waiting a few minutes for the first dose to work, she took a second dose on the inhaler and handed it back. It probably belonged to an asthma patient and needed to be returned. Martin hadn't moved, but she could tell he had withdrawn into his professional mode. Maybe if Julie left, Zachary would, too. Leaning on Martin for support, she slowly stood up, letting him help lift her to her feet.

Julie frowned as she likewise stood. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It came on fast and wasn't bad until this morning." Already, the medication was beginning to work and she wasn't wheezing nearly as much. "The problem will be finding antibiotics. I just don't know enough chemistry to know if the ones we have on board are safe for humans. They probably are, but I can't be sure. I'd hoped I could figure it out, but I haven't been able to…" She broke off in another fit of coughing. She had tried to cross reference her layman's familiarity with pharmacology with the drugs available on the ship, only to give up in frustration and exhaustion hours later.

Martin looked at Julie. "If you get me a list of what you need, the network still on the surface might be able to help."

"I'll do it right away." Julie hesitated, looking at Kim.

"Go. I'll be fine." She made a point of ignoring Zachary and started to walk slowly towards her shuttle, leaning on Martin for balance.

He glanced down behind her. "What's that?"

"Hmm?" Kim followed his line of sight and saw the garage bag and bin of bloodied water sitting on the shuttle ramp. She must have set them down when she'd started coughing again. "It's trash. I just changed Megan's bandages."

A glance from Martin assigned the disposal duty to Zachary as he picked her up and carried her to her shuttle. He laid her on the bunk she'd obviously claimed as her own. "You'd better keep this with you. Here's the switch to turn it off and on." He showed her the controls to the respirator, then covered her up with a blanket as she stretched out and rolled onto her side. He bent over her and stroked her cheek with the knuckles of his partly closed hand. "I'll see you soon."

Kim nodded, her eyes closed. He could tell from her breathing that she was nearly asleep already. Usually it took her a half hour or more, which indicated how ill and exhausted she was.

A quick survey of the shuttle indicated that Katherine and Jeffrey were likewise sound asleep. Katherine had a corner of her blanket in clenched in her tiny fist as she lay sleeping next to her brother. He stared at the infants, fascinated as always with how small and helpless they were. Long moments passed, then he drew on a lifetime of discipline for strength and returned to duty.

 

****

 

"Mike knows about the tapes for immediate broadcast and for the United Nations. I also want you to find any evidence you can of fifth column activity. I don't intend to share it unless we have to, given the fact the same methods are being used on the other motherships, but the time may come when we need it to establish credibility with the humans. The fourth set of records I want you to make is something I don’t Mike or any of the humans to know about and doesn't have to be video-based. I want you to assemble a record of any ship-board activities you think might be useful in the coming years. Include anything that you think might be at all beneficial. It will be a cultural library as well as a general record."

"How will that help us?" Megan spoke for the first time since Martin had told her he had an assignment for her. The videos she understood, but a cultural library seemed like busy work.

"Honestly? I don’t know. But we're not going to have access to the ship's computers for much longer. If there is any information we need to look up, something that might be helpful in the future, I'd like to have a chance to access it. You'll have to work with the portable data storage units we have, but save whatever you can. I can't explain it rationally. I just have a feeling that it's necessary."

"You intend to destroy the mothership?"

Martin nodded. "Maybe you haven't heard the rumors yet, but there was irreparable structural damage done. We can't leave it as a source of spare parts for the rest of the fleet. I'm working on finding out where the deepest part of the ocean is so we can sink it there."

"Do the humans know?"

Martin shook his head. "They know there was damage, but I think they're planning on using the ship for further study, trying to improve their own technology. A good idea, but too risky under the circumstances. When the fleet comes back, this will be their first target."

"You'd better check with them about the ocean so we don't damage the ecosystem. No sense wrecking this planet, too."

"I hadn't thought about that. But I don't know where else we can put it." Martin closed his eyes and leaned against the bulkhead of the shuttle. Sitting down on the bunk opposite Megan had been a mistake.

"May I ask you something?" Megan hesitated, not sure how to broach the subject. She'd gotten to know Martin a little bit during their time at the soundstage, which gave her the courage to ask a question of a superior officer. She needed to know. Martin nodded his consent without opening his eyes. The lack of eye contact was actually a relief. "Picking me for this assignment… is it because of my injury?" The look of surprise on Martin's face was genuine, which filled her with relief. She couldn't deal with pity or assignments derived from pity.

"Mike's son was just killed and he's difficult to interact with as a result. We need his experience with the media to make an effective set of tapes, but it's going to be challenging to work with him. I've seen you deal with Jackie, in all of her moods, which makes me think you'll be able to keep Mike on task without strangling him in the process."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Martin cautioned as he got up. "By the time you're finished, you may be wishing you had used your suicide capsule."

 

****

 

Silently, Damian knelt by Lorraine's bunk and took her left hand carefully in his own, twining their fingers together… just so. He felt a sharp increase in muscle tension, followed immediately by forced relaxation that indicated she was now awake and assessing her situation. The sequence was so familiar to him, so reflective of how they lived their lives.…

He watched while she opened her eyes, knowing she was preparing for just about anything… except for seeing him. After all, she thought he was dead. He pressed cool fingers to her equally cool lips, keeping her silent so they wouldn't be disturbed. He wanted this moment alone with her. The instant of recognition… there. A nod in response. A careful, silent embrace. Mouths to ears, whispers in their native tongue.

"I’m real," he assured her. "There was no way to get word to you."

"If I'm dreaming, don't let me wake up."

"You're not dreaming…. Run away with me?" A reference to a lifetime ago, when she'd asked the same of him.

"Where?" she played his part now.

"A planet I found… the natives call it Earth."

"Is it nice?"

"Populated with savages. Or it will be, once we get there."

He'd deviated from the original script. She fell silent, unsure what to say. Earth was a place she'd never seen for herself. An unknown. Like the future. And so much had changed… she'd seen too much, done too much, endured too much.

"You'll like it," he promised. "Run away with me?"

A hesitant nod, felt rather than seen. "Together."

"Sleep now."

Another tentative nod, recognition of their current circumstances.

He withdrew as quietly as he'd come, a whisper retreating into shadows. But for her, everything had changed.

 

****

 

Megan watched the video with the sound turned off. She really didn't need to hear the screams of the prisoner; the visual image of his torture was more than sufficient. Even when viewed at four times normal speed, it was clear what Diana was doing… and the blood spurting from the stump of the victim's finger made her ill. What were the odds of an amputation being the very first record she viewed? When the camera showed Diana lifting the severed digit to her mouth, Megan slammed the controls, making the playback halt. She'd hit the wrong button, intending to turn off the video. Nauseous, she turned away, eyes closed, taking a deep breath. This was not going to be an easy task, and she didn't have time for this type of a reaction.

"Are you okay?"

Megan startled slightly, opening her eyes to see Mike Donovan walking towards her with obvious concern on his face. She nodded curtly, trying to hide her discomfort. Her leg throbbed in pain, only adding to her misery. She watched as his eyes took in the image of Diana, frozen on the screen.

"I don't think we need video _that_ graphic," he said, sitting down in the co-pilot's chair.

"Good." Megan turned off the image and the screen went dark. Unfortunately, this was exactly what might be needed to show the humans why they had to fight back. She'd let Martin decide if any of Diana's records could be destroyed. For now, she'd save them in a separate file. It was better than having to view them all now.

"So how do you want to go about this?"

"There's so much material to go through... I suppose just look for clips that have the most visual impact and piece them together. It's going to make it that much harder for the fifth columnists on Earth." She stared at the blank monitor and wondered if any of them, Martin included, really knew what they were going to face in the coming months.

Mike didn't say anything, and she looked up at him. He looked tired, stubble was covering his lower face, and his eyes were closed. Had he fallen asleep? No, his lips were moving ever so slightly, as if forming words. "Mike?"

His eyes snapped open, but she wasn't sure if he'd even heard her. He was looking over the control panels, muttering to himself about masking tape and marking pens. Then he turned to her and something about him just changed. He was… animated, even enthusiastic.

"We have to tell a story," the human said, getting up to pace. "I need some paper. I'm going to write Martin a script. He'll record the audio, then we'll edit the video overlay to match the pacing.

"Find the files of the first broadcasts to Earth- when John gave that whole spiel about making a chemical and needing help. We'll also need the broadcast where Julie ripped his phony face off. I need my video, too! You start with finding those, and I'll be right back!" Donovan ordered before bounding from the shuttle.

Megan turned back to the control panel and tried to ignore the throbbing in her leg as she initiated a search for the videos Mike had asked for. She was willing to cooperate with the newsman's plans, at least for now. She'd make certain Martin was consulted before the final results were broadcast. Given the human's broadcast experience, it made sense to let Mike take charge of their shared project, especially since it would make it easier to work with him. So far, she didn't think it was going to be as difficult as Martin had indicated. While Mike's mood change had been fast, it still didn't match the intensity of Jackie's mercurial nature.

 

****

 

In her shuttle, Kim took advantage of a rare moment's peace to load the personal profiles of all of her fifth columnist friends, living and dead, into a data pad to take to the surface. She was determined to be able to recognize them all on sight even without their human masks. It wouldn’t take more than a few minutes each day to associate their real faces with their human names and commit them to memory.

What Kim found much more frustrating was her inability to properly pronounce many of their Sirian names. She knew she wasn't at fault for the limitations of her own physiology, but she couldn’t help but feel slightly inferior. The alternative, though, of not speaking Sirian at all also rankled. She'd worked too hard to master the language and she wanted her children to grow up fluent. That would only happen if the Visitors spoke the language freely around her and the kids. Maybe, given enough time to accept the Visitors, even Kevin would become fluent.

 

****

 

"Keep it right there," Martin told Zachary as he leaned out the shuttle's open door and reached for Candace's hand; his other hand gripped a handle that had been placed strategically to assist in transfers such as this one. Taking her wrist, he pulled her up easily, hardly needing Paul's help from below as they transferred her from boat deck to shuttle ramp in one fluid motion. Once she was safely inside, he reached down for Paul, hauling him aboard a bit less easily, but with an efficiency that came from a lifetime of practicing such maneuvers.

Paul let out a weary breath as he sank into a seat next to Candace while Martin closed the entry hatch and Zachary moved them to a higher altitude. He leaned back, disturbed that it still felt like he was moving on the ship. The sensation was disorienting since he knew the shuttle was completely stationary. "Do you know how grateful I am to be on a vessel that doesn't constantly pitch and sway?"

"At least it's structurally sound," Martin commented, sympathetic to Paul's disdain for boating. It seemed to him that the small fishing boat was at the mercy of the waves, some of which were quite large and sent the vessel sliding down into a trough, only to lift it up again a moment later. Sitting down across from Candace, he took a slip of paper out of his vest pocket and gave it to Paul. "This is a list of medical supplies Julie is hoping you can get. Antibiotics are probably the most important."

Paul glanced over the list, recognized few of the words, and passed it immediately on to Candace. Her forehead wrinkled as she made a face at the writing on the paper. "I can think of a couple of places we might get oral antibiotics, but tetanus vaccines? Maybe the other gals know a place." She shrugged, tucking the paper into her bra for safekeeping. "We'll do what we can."

"What else?" Paul prompted. Martin wouldn’t have asked for this meeting just to request medical supplies.

"Find me a place to send about 800 loyalists."

All expression drained from Paul's mask. He stared at Martin for a long moment, trying to grasp the magnitude of the problem. "Storage?" Paul knew Martin had originally hoped to park the ship on the surface, putting the loyalists into the pods currently filled with humans until a better solution could be found. It was the best they'd been able to come up with in the hasty planning to attack the mothership.

Martin shook his head slowly. "The ship's falling apart, voiding all of our original plans. Once everyone's out, we're sinking it in the Mariana Trench. It's deep enough there's no way our people will be able to retrieve it, and the pressure will destroy a lot of the equipment even if they could develop a way to gain access." That had been why he and Lorraine, in a hasty conversation during the last shift change, had opted against the alternative of using the Antarctic ice to bury the ship on land and thus reduce the chance of ecosystem damage. Saving the ocean only to lose the war for the planet didn't make sense. It wouldn't be a popular decision with the humans once they learned about it. Martin knew the humans wanted to study the ship and its technology. But if they'd waited before mounting their offensive, giving the fifth columnists time to plan the next phase of the war, the situation might have been avoided.

Martin forced his thoughts back to the present. "I need options, Paul. Something better than killing them all, or just turning them loose on human society." If there was a hint of desperation in his voice, Martin didn't really care.

"Of these 800 or so… how many of them are likely to fight for the Leader once they're on the surface?"

Martin looked away, not needing to see Paul's reaction to the answer. "There are forty-three I didn't include in that estimate. They won't be a problem."

"Okay, guys, clue me in here. What kind of people are we talking about? Cadets or grumpy old farts? Are they desperate just to get home and'll stop at nothing if it gets them on a ship? Are they going to be willing to learn to fit in here?"

"Most of them still believe what they were told to believe," Martin tried to explain. "If we can prepare them, they might adapt. Mostly, they're young." There just wasn't time to give Candace the background she needed to understand the situation. He'd gotten too accustomed to Kim's knowledge of his culture. While rudimentary, Kim's knowledge was sufficient for her to recognize the key issues when he went to her with questions.

Paul covered Candace's hand in unspoken apology. He knew how frustrating she found it to be left out of the conversation. "I'll explain it all later, Candy. How long do we have?"

"Plan on six weeks. With ongoing repairs, we might be able to extend that a little bit, but we can't count on it. We're going to start reviving prisoners en masse the day after tomorrow."

"Is there anything else?"

"Secure locations to store shuttles. We'll turn one over to the local government for show after the ship has been scuttled. Damian's found a way to deactivate the tracking devices. I want every shuttle on that mothership stored on the surface. We're going to need them when the fighting starts again. Preferably, we should have them in multiple locations, including several far outside the city."

"That'll be easier than finding a place for all those people. At least shuttles don't care where you park them," Candace commented, looking between Martin and Paul. "What's the world coming to, when a bunch of hookers are your advisory board? Martin, you got anything else to add to your wish list?"

Martin shook his head. He was too tired to banter lightly.

"We'll come up with something. And we'll let you know as soon as we get some supplies gathered." Candace stood up, then took Paul's hand to tug him to his feet and reluctantly towards the shuttle door. "C'mon, Paul. Time to set sail. Maybe we'll see some more whales on our way back. And will you stop looking so glum? We were s'posed to be dead already and it didn’t happen."

 

****

 

"Look what I found," Megan said quietly, gesturing Anthony closer to view the screen while Mike was out fetching something to eat. "Most of Diana's files are encrypted and I haven't been able to get access. But these weren't. Do you think it will help with Jackie?"

Anthony nodded, thrilled by Megan's discovery. "Where did you find these records? I searched for them and wasn't able to even locate them." The screen listed all of the conversion records for the L.A. mothership, including some he'd done himself. He tried to ignore those entries and the memories they evoked.

"They don’t come up when you search for them. I stumbled on them by accident in an obscure subdirectory.  I don't understand why Diana didn’t just encrypt them like all of her other files."

"Maybe she thinks she did. For all we know, we have an independent fifth columnist to thank. Will you load these onto a data pad for me? Don't say anything to Jackie yet. I need time to study these."

****

 

"They said they're ready to test the vaccine, pending your approval," Lorraine told Martin in their shift change conference two days later. "Do you think we can trust them?"

Martin nodded as he joined her at the conference table. "They're testing it on themselves first. If they're wrong, they'll die. Anthony will review their records so the work won't be lost." He activated the monitor and quickly entered his new orders for Anthony and the vaccination team.

"We've also secured a second sector and have begun reviving the first humans. Caleb is talking to them now and explaining what we need them to do. They're ready for us on the surface. Mike's first video is ready, but I wanted you to preview it first."

Martin called the video up and they watched the finished product together, shoulders nearly touching as she moved her chair closer to his to watch. They'd filmed Martin on the bridge yesterday, where Martin paraphrased Mike's script, explaining the truth of the Visitors' mission on Earth. Mike, Julie, and Lorraine had stood beside him while the unmasked fifth column crew continued to work in the background. On a whim, Mike had suggested that the crew remove their masks and help dispel any insinuations that the broadcast was fake. The finished video had woven the bridge crew's scenes and Martin's narrative with clips from John's unmasking, some mild torture of unidentified prisoners and Diana's murder of her commanding officers. Megan had even found him video clips of the storage pods and occupied prisoner holding cells. Mike's video ended with Martin's plea for loyalists to turn themselves in for voluntary confinement on the L.A. ship. Via a coded reference, the fifth columnists were assured that more antitoxin would arrive via the same channels used previously.

"It's impressive how much information he fit into eight minutes," Martin said when the screen went blank. Mike and Megan had also exercised a great deal of restraint in their explanations of prisoners' treatment. With a few keystrokes, he put the video on a continuous loop and broadcast it to the media outlets below them as well as the satellites that carried signals to other stations. He could only hope they'd believe his warnings about the conversion of the president and vice president and follow his suggestion that the next in line assume command of the country for the time being. "We'll need to start getting prisoners to the surface today so we don't lose credibility."

"I've had this available to the crew since Mike finished it early in my shift. I thought it would help answer a lot of questions, especially for the loyalists. Now some of the crew have requested permission to remove their pseudoskin until they are sent to the surface." Lorraine empathized with their wish, but couldn't envision Martin approving their request.

"I should have anticipated that. It's certainly understandable." He leaned back in his seat, considering the impact this might have on the ability of the human rebels to work with the fifth column. "Permission granted, except for anyone working to revive humans and relocate them to the surface. Those people are going to be disoriented and frightened enough as it is."

Lorraine was stunned by Martin's decision and she heard surprise in her own voice. "What about the rebels on board? Do you really think they'll accept us?"

"Frankly, I don't care if they do or not. A few weeks without pseudoskin is a rather modest request in light of the backlash that we'll face in the coming months. Besides, it will help differentiate us from the previous leadership."

"What about you?"

Martin shook his head, quickly discarding the temptation. "I'm going to be too visible and moving around too much." He ran a thumb over her cheekbone, his tone gentle. "But there's no reason why you can't indulge."

She closed her eyes, torn between desire and apprehension. It would be so nice to have normal tactile sensations again. Finally, she sighed and shook her head. "I can't. It will be too hard to put it back on again."

"How is your shoulder?"

The change in subject was deliberate, and she was grateful for his understanding. "Still sore, but Anthony thinks I'll have no permanent damage."

"Good. Go get some sleep."


	8. An Interesting Afternoon

"My God," Jackie whispered stepping backwards into Anthony. He took her arm and propelled her forward in spite of her struggles. "No!"

He ignored her and took her further into the chamber so the door would close behind them. "It’s just a room, Jackie. And you need to accept that before we can do any more."

She turned on him, unspoken questions on her lips, pressing up against him in an unconscious attempt to reach the door.

"I don’t know if the process can be reversed or not. All we can do is try."

"What do I have to do?" she whispered.

"Stop fighting me," he said, then brushed a tendril of hair back from her cheek. "I’m not going to turn any equipment on today. I just want you to be in here so you have a chance to see it as the room that it is."

"Just a room?" Her eyes wandered over the floor and walls. The chamber was empty, save for a round, raised platform in the center. The walls were cream in color and had vertical strips in a different material spaced every few feet. She vaguely remembered blinding lights emanating from them. She swallowed hard when she tasted bile.

She stood there for several minutes, trying to find the courage to move her feet. They remained locked in place. Finally, Anthony propelled her forward, in spite of her protests, forcing her to walk around the perimeter and back to the door, before shoving her ahead of him and letting go. She stumbled, then regained her balance when her hands touched the wall. Somehow, she resisted the urge to run back to him. Deep down, she knew he was right to force her to stand a few moments on her own, and he had been correct in knowing she was ready for it. Her eyes turned back to the platform. Dark images floated on the periphery of her consciousness.

Anthony was behind her again, and he put a reassuring hand on her back. "I think that’s enough for today." Her breathing was rapid and shallow, her palms wet, and her pupils were dilated. She even smelled like fear.

"No," she said, then took a deep breath. "Tell me how it works. I couldn’t move my feet."

"There were clamps around your ankles. They retract when it's turned off."

Gripping his hand viciously, she took hesitant steps towards the platform.

He moved with her, ignoring the pain her fingernails inflicted as they cut gashes in the pseudoskin on his hands and dug into his palm. He helped her step up on the platform and then sit on its smooth surface. He sat behind her, with his arms wrapped protectively around her, and waited for her to calm.

The door slid open and he looked over Jackie’s shoulder right into the barrel of a laser rifle.

"Step away."

"Ham, no!" Jackie cried, pressing more tightly against Anthony. She knew if she were not so closely positioned to the Visitor, Ham would have already killed him by now. If Anthony moved away, he’d never leave the room alive.

Anthony, realizing Tyler’s intent, made no move. He stared calmly into the human’s eyes, waiting for him to come to his senses and put the gun away.

"I said, 'Step away," Ham repeated his order.

"You like her converted?" Anthony asked.

"No, and that’s why you’re not going to finish the job."

Jackie burst into tears. "Ham, he’s trying to help. Please, just leave. This is hard enough."

"Did he tell you to say that? No way I’m leaving you in here with a lizard." Ham looked from Jackie to Anthony, trying to decide how to get her away from him without further traumatizing her.

"Then watch from the other room," Anthony snapped. "There is a switch on the wall over the console that will open the view-port." It was increasingly difficult to believe that Jackie had a son by this man.

Ham glared at him for a long moment, then looked back to Jackie’s pleading gaze. Maybe he had acted prematurely, but he wasn’t about to leave them alone. He nodded once, sharply, and backed out of the doorway. The panel closed after him.

Jackie watched the walls, looking for the window. "I guess he left."

"No. The panel is only transparent from that side. He’s on the other side of that wall," Anthony said and pointed.

"Can he hear us?"

Anthony nodded. "Unless he shot out the whole console."

In the other room, Ham gnashed his teeth when Jackie giggled at the comment, but stayed where he was. If that lizard hurt her, he was going to have himself new boots and a matching belt.

"What now?" Jackie asked.

"I already told you we’d done enough for today," Anthony replied calmly. He tried to forget Ham was listening to his every word. He was not going to allow the human to interfere in Jackie’s recovery. Kim and Anthony had invested a lot of time in multiple attempts at hypnosis, always failing to lower the barriers to Jackie's mind. Perhaps by using the conversion chamber's techniques just enough to lower her resistance, and in combination with the new element of positive images rather than helplessness, he could return Jackie's mind to her own control.

"No," Jackie said and climbed to her feet. "I need to do more."

Anthony leaned back on his hands and watched her placidly.

"Will it open?" she asked, looking at the door. 1```

"Just step up to it," he assured her.

Cautious steps led her to the panel, and it slid open obediently. She stepped into the opening, and glanced at Ham. He was watching her with a very guarded expression and she couldn’t fathom what he must be thinking. Her heart warmed at the realization he still cared enough to come to her rescue, however unnecessary it had been. She smiled softly at him and turned around in the doorway, looking back at Anthony.

The conversion technician had not moved at all. He just sat there, looking calm and relaxed as he watched her, then nodded his encouragement.

She tentatively walked around the perimeter of the room. Her every sense was acutely alert. She could hear the swish of the panel sliding shut as she moved away, her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, Anthony’s quiet breathing, the soft hum of the ship’s engines. The slightest new sound, if unexpected, would pour even more adrenaline into her system, and thankfully, none occurred.

Her feet led her back to the door, and it opened again. What a miracle that was, to have it open for her, providing an exit from this chamber of horrors. She put her hand on the frame, and turned partway, leaning her back against the doorjamb. Ham was in one room watching her, Anthony in the other, also observing. "I’ve had enough."

Anthony nodded, but made no move to get up. She realized he was giving her an opportunity to confront Ham if she wished. She smiled slightly to him in gratitude, then turned her attention to Ham.

Eyes that were colder than she remembered watched her every move. She shyly approached him, and kissed his cheek before backing away, once again activating the sensors that kept the door to the conversion chamber open. He stood frozen in place, watching her with that damned inscrutable gaze of his. "Thank you, Ham, for trying to rescue me. But, please, don’t interfere again. You forfeited your rescuing rights the night you left." She kept her eyes locked on him, reaching behind her for Anthony. When she felt his cool fingers grasp hers, she led him into the corridor, never once looking back at the former CIA agent she'd once loved.

 

****

 

Martin watched from across the landing bay as Jackie threw a knife at a stack of crates that had been placed against the bulkhead. She walked the short distance to retrieve it, then turned and threw it again, hitting exactly the same spot. She repeated the action three more times as he slowly approached. "That's not much of a challenge for you, is it?"

Jackie spun around, instantly defensive. "What do you mean?"

He raised an eyebrow in response. "Your aim is consistent and perfect. You need more of a challenge, like a moving target."

Jackie sighed, relaxing when she realized that Martin recognized her skill and was complimenting her, not mocking her as she'd first assumed. "I'm throwing right-handed, " she admitted, fighting back the tears. "And that takes a lot more effort than it used to."

Martin studied her, sensing there was far more happening than just target practice. "What did you think I meant?"

"Nothing." She shook her head, dismissing his question. She used the point of the blade to scrape dirt out from under her thumbnail. He was kind enough to ignore how her hands were shaking as she did so. "I have issues."

Martin said nothing. He'd learned a long time ago that people filled silence, and the technique worked just as well on humans. If he waited long enough, Jackie would offer more.

Jackie flipped the knife over and studied the locking hinge. "I don’t like being told I can't do something. My ex-husband spent a summer with the circus when he was in high school. He told me once that men had natural knife-throwing skills that women didn’t. It made me so mad! So I bought a knife and taught myself to throw just to prove him wrong. I practiced for hours and learned to hit stationary and moving targets, throw with either hand, throw sideways. I mastered it all… except for the marriage." She angrily brushed the tears away with the back of her hand. "A knife's more useful than a wedding ring anyway, especially in times like these. Like I keep telling my therapist, I have issues. And I can't _stand_ being back on this damned ship!" She threw the knife again and went to retrieve the blade, still avoiding Martin's eyes and the sympathy she knew she'd find there.

He was always so damned calm and considerate. It wasn’t human. That struck her as funny and she tried not to giggle. Her nerves had been on edge all afternoon, no thanks to Anthony. God only knew what it would be like to have the equipment on. What kind of sick person willingly revisited the place where their mind had been raped? She flung the knife again, this time with her left hand. It hit the target with a solid thunk, but gave her no satisfaction. Damnit, this was too easy. Martin was right. She needed more of a challenge, especially if she wanted to get her mind to blank out.

"Anthony told me about your run-in with Ham. Now that I know he's on board, we'll keep him away from you."

"Thanks, but I don't think he's going to approach me again." Jackie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Once we're all done here, he and I are overdue for a talk."

 

****

 

"Just swallow, damnit!" Kim muttered, bending over Katherine with a dropper in her hand. Twice a day, she had to convince two babies that swallowing a foul-tasting liquid was actually a good idea. Not even the addition of precious, pure sugar seemed to help. "No, don't you dare turn your head and spit it out, you little creep!" With gentleness that belied her tone, she used the dropper to recover most of the liquid running down Katherine's cheek. "How can someone so small and helpless be so blasted defiant?"

Martin's hands seemingly appeared out of nowhere and he held Katherine's head immobile while Kim tried again, this time successfully, to get their daughter to swallow the liquid before she could spit it out. Kim hadn't heard him enter the shuttle, but then, how could she hear anything over Jeffrey's frantic cries? "Thanks." Kim turned to a little boy who was huddled in the very back of the shuttle, apparently trying to disappear from sight. "Kevin, Martin's my friend, like I already told you. But you can go stay with Jackie if you want to."

The boy nodded once, then took Kim's hand while he warily edged past Martin. As soon as the way was clear, he bolted for the exit.

Taking his cue from Kim's comments, Martin pretended not to even see the boy, focusing his attention instead on picking up the squawking, outraged infant nearby. It didn't change the noise levels in the shuttle.

"Hold him crossways."

As soon as he'd obediently shifted Jeffrey in his arms, Kim brought out a liquid-filled cylinder with a small projection on top, which she put into Jeffrey's mouth. Finally, the shuttle was silent! Or rather, filled with the sounds of hungry feeding, which was still an improvement over the crying.

Martin sat down on the end of the bunk, watching as Kim prepared another dropper. "Maybe with you here, too, we can trick him. Don’t let him turn his head." Carefully, she slipped the dropper into the corner of Jeffrey's mouth while he sucked down the white liquid. The little body tensed, kicked, then finally relented and resumed eating.

"You're hired. They’ve figured out what I’m up to and are getting better and better at fighting me. Remind me later to tell you about Kevin," Kim said before another fit of coughing commenced.

To Martin, it sounded even worse than it had the last time he'd seen her two days ago. There hadn't been any word from Paul yet, and therefore no antibiotics. She looked pale, exhausted, and frankly, ready to collapse. "What are you giving them?"

"Antitoxin, just to be safe. And yes, I started on it, too, as a precaution in case the red dust is making me sick. Any word on the permanent antidote?" Kim couldn't bring herself to call it a vaccine, since technically it wasn't one any more than the toxin was a pathogen.

"The first doses were given earlier today, so their first test exposure will be tomorrow." He indicated the liquid Jeffrey was consuming. "What's this?"

"A bottle of formula. It’s food. Physically, I can't keep up with their needs any more, even without being sick myself. I'm supplementing nursing with formula so they don't starve," Kim explained. She knew he wasn't judging her, but was simply curious. "I just wish we could know if they're getting all the nutrients they need." Exhausted, she fixed a second bottle for Katherine and lay down on the bunk he was sitting on to feed her. She had to curl her legs so her feet didn't hit the bulkhead, but it put her closer to him than if she lay on the bunk opposite. It got lonely here in the shuttle bay, her hours filled with diaper changes, feedings, coughing, and short snatches of sleep. Jackie helped some, but being on the ship filled her with tension, which the twins sensed and responded to with more crying. 

"Have you thought about going home? Would that be any easier?" There, he'd finally broached the topic he'd been dreading to ask about. It wasn’t rational, given how little time he had to visit her. He wanted her on the ship as long as he was. But if it was better for her to go to her house, he needed to help facilitate that move.

Kim shook her head. "Feel my neck." He shifted his hold on the bottle so he could comply. He pressed his fingers to her flesh for a moment, surprised at how warm she was, then moved his hand to her forehead, which was likewise warm and damp with sweat. "Exactly. I'm too warm. It's called a fever, and if it gets too high, it's downright dangerous. I'm fighting an infection. Despite the antitoxin, my cough isn't any better. If anything, I'm getting worse." Finally, she opened her eyes and let him see the fear she was trying to hide, since nothing more could be done.

It was mirrored by worry that not even contacts could disguise. "How much worse?"

"I'm scared." She tried to hold back the tears, but they welled up anyway. She closed her eyes, letting him brush the drops away from her cheeks. "I just hope Paul and the others can find some antibiotics soon, or that someone can figure out what we have on board that is probably safe. Pneumonia can be fatal." She smiled wanly at him, thinking back to an earlier conversation about his probable death. "Talk about irony."

He followed her thoughts easily. "That didn’t happen. Maybe this won't either."

 

****

 

"I take it everything's ready at the base?" Caleb asked Ham quietly as another newly revived human was helped into clothes and escorted to a table where pastries and cups of juice had been laid out. Several other humans were sitting in chairs nearby watching Mike's video, which was still begin broadcast on continuous loop to the surface and the monitors on the mothership. They were being tended by some of the rebels who were going to keep commuting between the surface and the ship, buffering the humans from contact with the Visitors and answering the multitude of questions that were bound to arise over the next several days. Pretty soon, they'd have a group large enough to transport to the surface. This first group had to be big so it made a real impact.

Ham nodded at the video. "Has anyone even thought to ask what's going to happen to those loyalists Martin's encouraging to come aboard? I keep hearing talk that the ship's falling apart around us, and he's talking in Gooder's video about voluntary confinement."

Caleb shook his head. He didn't want to feed Ham's paranoia about trusting any of the Visitors, fifth column or not. But it was a valid question, one no one on board had even considered.

Ham drained a cup of juice in one long gulp, then tossed the paper cup into what was presumably a trash receptacle. "You can escort this first group of the halleluiah chorus down. I'm going to have a chat with Martin."

 

****

 

Ham wasn’t fifteen feet beyond the shuttle bay before he heard a lizard calling his name.

"Mr. Tyler? Commander Martin wishes to speak with you. He asked me to escort you to his conference room at your earliest convenience."

He spun on his heel, irritated that he was apparently heading in the wrong direction. Leave it to lizard designers to come up with décor that was so nondescript you never knew where you were. Hadn't they figured out that emergency response times were shortened if you had to read labels at every corridor junction? "Do you always do what Martin says?" Ham recognized Laura from their prior meeting on the surface. It didn't seem like the intervening time had dampened her enthusiasm.

"Yes, sir, I do."

The young Visitor stood her ground as he leaned in closer, deliberately invading her personal space and maximizing the several inches of height he had on her. "What'd he tell you about me?" He let the corners of his mouth turn into a smirk.

His proximity forced her to tilt her head back, but she met his gaze evenly. "He said you like to provoke people. It's how you first measure their resolve. And he told me that we should always consider your advice, no matter how crudely you state it, because you are a warrior worthy of our respect."

He kept the smirk intact, privately irritated that he hadn't been able to visibly annoy her. "What do you think?"

"I think he's waiting for us," Laura answered before leading the way back down the corridor she'd arrived from.

She didn't get to see the genuine smile that briefly flashed across his features before he reinstated his normal façade of disinterest and followed her. He had to give Martin credit in his choice of protégés. This young lizard had potential.

 

****

 

Forty-three lives. Martin sat studying the list of names and tried to prepare himself for what was coming. The necessity was not in doubt. He'd spoken to all of them, although not all of them had answered his questions while Laura and Zachary both stood guard. In a few instances, the looks of hatred, followed with venom, had clearly established the interviewees' political stance. Martin hadn't been close enough for the venom to hit him, but the message had been clear: there was no way they were going to accept Martin as their commander, much less the intelligence of the humans they had been sent to conquer.

They'd moved the lot of them into a holding area adjacent to an exercise room that occasionally served as an execution suite before Martin had retired to the command center's conference room to prepare. Zachary assumed his station outside the door. Laura had followed him inside. Martin closed his eyes, reliving the conversation that had followed.

 

"You're dismissed," Martin said curtly as he sat down at a console.

"I'm volunteering, sir."

He didn’t even look up to answer. "No."

"Sir, please listen to me before you decide."

Martin took a careful breath, calming himself without disclosing his agitation, and rose from his chair. He stood directly in front of her, his gaze and bearing carrying the weight of his authority and experience as a commanding officer. "I'm listening."

To her credit, she didn’t flinch from his scrutiny. "By law and tradition, they're entitled to two witnesses. I both abhor the idea and recognize the necessity of their executions. I haven't seen active combat. I haven't had to kill."

"So you think killing by proxy is a good initiation?"

"No. I'm saying that I’m willing to accept the consequences of my choices. You need witnesses. There is no good reason for me _not_ to serve in that role." Laura closed her eyes, beginning to wish her commander would deny her request. Still, she pressed on. "I doubt many of the fifth columnists even realize what you have planned." She opened her eyes and studied Martin carefully. "It's not fair that you have to either choose witnesses or choose whom to approach as a potential volunteer. We all chose this path and we all share the responsibility for the outcome."

"Are you absolutely certain?"

Laura kept the waver from her voice as she answered, "Yes, sir."

 

She'd solved that part of his problem. Truth be told, he'd dreaded having to approach any of the fifth columnists on board with a request that they serve as witness. He could only hope that Laura wouldn't be unduly scarred by the experience. She was still young and idealistic, fully confident that she could handle anything she would ever face in war. It was unfortunate that she would either live long enough to learn otherwise or die young.

The door opened and Ham strolled in. "Your lapdog played fetch, so what do you want?"

"Laura, wait with Zachary." Once they were alone, Martin motioned Ham to a chair. "Two things. Has Julie talked to you about getting medical supplies?"

Ham shook his head, debating about whether or not to sit down. Deciding Martin's gesture had been courteous and not commanding, he opted to sit. "Not directly, though it's always possible one of these amateurs didn’t relay a message. What do they need?"

Ham accepted the list from Martin, skimmed it quickly, and pocketed it without comment.

"Secondly, there are forty-three loyal extremists awaiting execution. Our laws and traditions dictate that they have two witnesses present." Martin paused, wondering if Ham was going to force him to spell it out. Apparently, the answer was yes. "Will you serve as a witness?"

"Armed?"

Martin nodded once. "While they have been stripped of weapons, there are no guarantees."

Ham leaned back in his chair as he studied the leader of the fifth column, either trying to discern the motives behind Martin's request or how to get in another dig. Martin couldn't decide which. "Can't you trust any of your own people?"

"It's not a question of trust. They'll feel guilty. I don’t think you will."

"You're not asking Donovan."

"He'll just argue. You understand the necessity."

"Am I supposed to believe that only 43 loyalists are left alive on this atmospheric colander?"

"The actual number is closer to 850." Martin, too, leaned back in his seat. It was unfortunate that Ham was so downright unlikable. He probably had more in common with Ham than any of the other humans he'd met.

"Your little video sent out an invitation for more."

"We both know they're not likely to accept. Or survive the attempt."

"So you're going to reduce 850 to 800. Then what?"

"Do you realize you're the first person to ask?"

"I'm giving you a chance to practice your answer."

Martin ignored Ham's taunting. There was something in the human's gaze that hinted at sympathy to Martin's situation, though Ham would never actually admit to the feeling. Perhaps he was just imagining it. Martin let his gaze fall back on the screen. The execution of forty-three people was hard enough to contemplate, but they were loyal to the Leader and their side had lost. He wasn't ready to give up on finding a solution for the remaining crew. "I don't know yet. The current condition of this ship eliminated the best option. The fact that most of them are truly ignorant of human intelligence and the Leader's plans excludes your solution. That's the best answer I can give you right now." Martin stood up and looked back at Ham. "In the meantime, will you witness?"

Ham gestured towards the door as he, too, stood up. "Lead the way."

 

****

 

Martin led them to the execution suite, leaving Zachary to stand guard in the corridor while the rest of them proceeded inside. Ham looked around the room, habitually noting the layout, escape routes, and hiding places.

The chamber was fairly nondescript, but the lizards didn't seem to have much of a talent for decorating. A second entrance, presumably connecting to a holding area, was located on the wall opposite the entrance to the corridor. A temporary partition created an alcove in the furthest corner. A console was located next to the second entrance, and there was a window in the wall beside it. Ham assumed it allowed for a visual identification before opening the door.

"Any chance they can rush us as a group?" Ham asked, taking up a position between the open area and the exit. His M16 was still slung over his shoulder, but for this he pulled out and cocked a handgun.

Martin shook his head, motioning Laura to the console. "There's a small chamber beyond this door and we control both of its doors. If they try to crowd into that chamber, we can just wait them out, whereas they forfeit the right to a swift death."

Laura took out her laser pistol and held it loosely at her side while Martin moved to the center of the execution area. At his nod, she opened the door.

The victim walked in briskly, his posture erect, and moved towards Martin. He stopped two paces away, bare hands clasped behind his back. Martin noticed Ham tracking his movements with the handgun, ready for anything. The panel closed behind him and Laura, too, held her weapon ready.

Martin circled slowly, then lashed out with his bare hand, striking the victim's neck at the base of his skull, instantly severing the spinal column as the vertebrae snapped. He caught the body as it fell, dragging it to the corner behind the partition before letting go.

Forty-two.

Martin straightened his vest and returned to the execution area.

The next three executions proceeded just as swiftly. Like the first, the condemned had all chosen to die free of the pseudoskin, without protest, and without incident. As Martin finished placing the fourth body out of sight, Ham broke the silence. "Toxin would be a lot easier."

Martin nodded once, his eyes focused on a distant memory. "Executions must never become easy."

Ham made a non-committal sound in his throat and watched as the process was repeated again. And again.

Martin laid the twenty-first victim down, this one female, and absently rubbed his hand. His arm was beginning to tire. Soon, he would have to start alternating with his non-dominant hand. He straightened his tunic and returned once again to await the next loyalist.

The young soldier sauntered towards him, openly defiant with his posture. Half-way between the door and Martin, he held up his hand. "Not you. Her," he said as he pointed to Laura.

Martin didn't let his mask change expression, but inside his heart cried out. According to law, if Laura refused, he was obligated to kill her, too. He wouldn’t do that, of course, but Laura would have to live with the knowledge, and have Ham witness her moment of weakness. Given her background, both would be difficult for her to accept. On the other hand, if Laura complied, she would kill for the first time, adding to the scars the day was already etching onto her soul.

"As you wish, Sam," Laura said evenly. She keyed the panel closed, circled behind Martin while being careful to stay far out of Sam's reach, and handing her weapon to Tyler, who tucked it in his waistband and tracked Sam with his own handgun. Only then did she approach the loyalist.

She'd studied this death strike as part of her training. She had the physical strength to do it. She'd been fortunate that her left shoulder, not her right, had been the one to suffer the dislocation. She'd be able to use her dominant hand today without aggravating that injury. Sam clearly wanted her to suffer. He probably thought she'd refuse his current request just like she'd refused a return invitation to his bed. He was wrong on all counts.

"I should have known you were a traitor," Sam said, leering at her as she began to slowly circle around his side.

She heard Martin step up behind her, ready to strike her down if she faltered.

She didn't.

The body crumpled at her feet.

Before Martin could move to retrieve it, Laura bent and hauled the fallen soldier's torso up over her shoulders. Martin noted Ham's slight surprise, betrayed by a raised eyebrow, at Laura's display of physical strength. Interesting.

Calmly, Laura placed Sam's body with the others, collected her weapon from Ham and returned to her station at the console. She glanced over at Martin for permission, and receiving it with a nod, opened the door once again.

Martin began to lose count as his hand lashed out again and again. He felt the bones yield under his touch, the life force freed from the body in an instant, the dead weight of flesh that he caught and laid in the corner. It didn’t get easier, but it became frighteningly repetitious.

A young woman held up her hand when Martin approached. "I request beheading," she said, almost daring Martin to refuse her with her posture and tone.

He struck out and caught the body as it fell. "Request denied," he said softly, more to himself than anyone else.

"She was trying to punish you with the mess?" Ham was surprised. He doubted Martin was squeamish. And you couldn't get a death much quicker or cleaner than the one Martin was providing. It was far more than the ugly bastards deserved.

Martin nodded affirmation. "Those who will follow her don’t need to see that."

Ham shrugged. It didn’t much matter to him. He raised an eyebrow. "Are you allowed to ignore that request?"

Martin smiled ever so slightly as he answered, "No." Sometimes, being a traitor had its advantages.

Laura admitted the next prisoner, another female. She looked around, obviously expecting to see blood on the floor. "You defy our traditions! And you invite a human to stand as a witness?" She turned to Martin and began to curse at him in Sirian. When he started to circle around, she turned, keeping him at her front as she continued her tirade. Ham tracked her with his gun, ever vigilant. The Visitor was too agitated to notice Laura, who moved in from behind and administered the death blow.

She met Martin's gaze over the body he had caught as it fell forward. "I never did like her."

Ham snorted but refrained from commenting further. Laura was probably just as ugly as the other lizards underneath that fake skin she wore, but she was beginning to grow on him. He transferred his gun to his left hand for a moment, flexing his right so it didn't start to cramp. This was no time to get complacent. They still had six more to go, by his count. He watched as they filed in one by one.

Most of them didn't even seem to notice the lack of blood on the floor. The ones that did, based on the way they seemed to stare at the floor, didn't comment. Even more than their repulsive skin, Ham hated the lizards' eyes. Their dull, unblinking gaze made it difficult to gauge intent. At least Martin had the sense to keep wearing his human disguise.

"Last one, sir," Laura said softly as she returned to the console and opened the panel.

Martin let the young man's body fall to the floor. There was no need to move him out of sight. He studied the lifeless form for a long moment, then moved to a panel near the exit. He entered a command to drop the room temperature and lock the doors after a short delay. The doors opened, initiating the silent countdown. No one other than Lorraine had the ability to override it, which would allow them to decide if, and when, anyone would collect the bodies for disposal. Next, he opened a channel to central command and informed them he'd be in the officer's gym if needed. That done, he turned to Ham. "Thank you."

Ham nodded curtly. He didn't like Martin, but he did respect the lizard for what he had just put himself through. He uncocked and holstered his handgun and sauntered towards the exit.

"Laura? Come with me." It was clearly an order, but the most gently administered order Ham had ever heard Martin give. He slowed, ever so slightly, wanting to see how this would play out. Zachary turned when he passed into the corridor, obviously anticipating that Martin and Laura would be right behind. After a long moment, Martin emerged, Laura trailing behind him with a slightly dazed expression. When she saw Ham waiting, she straightened slightly and picked up her pace. Zachary fell in behind them. The doors slid shut and Ham watched as the trio headed down the corridor.

It had been an interesting afternoon.

*****

Martin keyed open the doors to the officer's gym. "Zachary, under no circumstances will you allow humans to enter. Use the com channel if I'm needed, but I want these doors to stay shut and locked."

"Understood."

Laura followed him inside. Her face was blank.

"You handled yourself well."

If she were human, she'd be crying. As it was, he saw the signs of shock setting in.

He took her elbow and guided her to the sand area. He retrieved a pair of long staffs from the wall and pushed one into her hands. She looked at him, confused. They were still in full uniform.

"This is an outlet for your anger," Martin explained, and launched his attack. Instinctively, she countered his move. He attacked again, and she countered again. The movements broke through her shock and she attacked him with one of the moves he had taught her in their last practice session.

As she unleashed her fury, he freed his own. This wasn't practice, but combat. He had the advantages of experience and strength, she of youth and emotion. They balanced each other nicely and he didn't have to hold back.

When he saw her exhaustion begin to compromise her reaction times, he tore at the front of her uniform, undoing the clasp. It startled her. Her eyes questioned as she watched him throw down his staff, and observed with detachment that her own hands did the same.

He moved closer to her, digging his nails under the pseudoskin covering her neck. He pulled her mask up and over her head, freeing her from its confines. "This is an outlet for your grief," he explained softly, then pulled her down beside him into the sand.

*****

Lorraine began her shift, as she always did, by going to the conference room off of master control for an update. She found it empty. The crew on duty informed her that Martin was in the officer's gym. Lorraine quickly activated the ship's monitoring system, not wanting to disturb her commander unnecessarily. He hadn't indicated when he was going to perform the executions, but she knew he would never indulge in a workout under their current circumstances unless something extraordinary had occurred. Forty-three executions certainly met that criteria.

Any human would have been shocked at the tableau. Uniforms, torn in places, were scattered around the sand pit. Amongst the red fabric lay sections of pseudoskin, hastily peeled away from the bodies they had covered. And in the middle of it all, two naked Visitors, stretched out in the sand, sleeping. They were still touching, though far less intimately than they had in recent hours.

Satisfied that nothing was amiss, Lorraine remotely turned the room lights to minimum and switched off the cameras. There was little chance of any of the humans recognizing Martin in his current state of undress, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. One never knew when a bored officer might scan the ship for something interesting to watch.


	9. Jessica

Pain. That was his first conscious thought. It was followed with the observation that someone had put sand in his eyes. Opening them would hurt too much. He reached for the bottle of drops he always kept in his uniform's vest pocket, only to encounter his own bare flesh. Where was he? Slowly, his mind extricated itself from the multi-tentacled grasp of a deep, dreamless sleep. There was no telling where his uniform had ended up. He didn't really have sand in his eyes. No, it was worse than that: he'd fallen asleep wearing his human-looking contacts.

He was forced to take the painful approach and cracked his lids open. At least the light was dim. Try as he might, he had no memory of lowering the light levels. Perhaps Lorraine had figured out where he was and done so remotely? But that meant he had slept beyond their shift change. Given the extreme lethargy he currently felt, he had probably slept well past the time he was to relieve Lorraine again.

Was that his vest? It lay just beyond his grasp, forcing him to stretch and try to snag the red fabric with his fingertips. He dragged it closer, only to discover it was Laura's uniform, and the part without pockets that might have eye drops. Gritting his teeth, he rolled on to his side and pushed his torso up. There it was…  well out of reach unless he wanted to crawl over Laura to fetch it. Doing so would be rude. Worse, given her youth, she'd react violently and toss him headlong out of the workout area before she even fully woke. That would never do. He didn't need any more bruises added to those acquired in their exertions.

Resigned, he slowly stood up and walked around her supine form. He dropped to his knees in the sand and fumbled for the bottle in the inner pocket where he always kept it. Finally!

The drops provided enough moisture to ease his discomfort. And it made it possible to remove the contacts without taking his corneas, too. One of the lenses tore down the middle and both picked up sand from his fingers. It didn't matter. He was overdue for new contacts anyway. For some reason, extra lenses hadn't been on his list of things to pack when fleeing the mothership with Mike all those weeks ago.

He picked up a piece of discarded pseudoskin. Sand clung to it, just as it was sticking to his skin, courtesy of the adhesive. They'd be able to salvage the wigs, but the rest of the human disguises were beyond repair. Getting fresh pseudoskins probably wasn’t a bad idea, either, since they'd be leaving the ships soon. Actually, they should take some portable pseudoskin units with them. One more detail to remember. The list of things he had to keep track of never seemed to get any shorter.

He tried to brush the sand from his arms and hands but it clung stubbornly. Only a thorough bathing regimen was going to make him presentable for duty by his own standards and it would take even longer to be presentable to the humans. Lorraine was waiting. He was hungry. And he was still struggling to string his thoughts together coherently.

With a sigh and a muttered curse, Martin gathered up the pseudoskin fragments and shoved them into a waste disposal unit. He shook out the two wigs and their uniforms, dressed quickly, and forced his feet into his boots. Now his feet felt as gritty as his eyes. He found his chronometer and glanced at the time, stunned that his generous estimate of how long Lorraine had been covering for him fell far short of the reality.

He folded Laura's uniform neatly, placed her chronometer and wig on top of the fabric, and knelt again to wake her. The first response he got when he gently pressed his hand against her shoulder was a moan. The second was a curse. "Lie still and I'll put drops in your eyes," he told her, his own voice raw in his throat. He fumbled with the bottle then allowed the fluid to drip onto her closed eyes and work its way beneath the lids. A minute later, they opened. The human lenses were incongruous with the Sirian face gazing up at him.

"I need to relieve Lorraine. I didn’t want to leave you unguarded while you were asleep."

He watched, fascinated, as awareness and memories returned to her and the effects of sleep faded. He stood up and extended his hand to pull her to her feet.

She hesitated before accepting his help. She looked around after she was upright, still disoriented. She brushed at the sand, irritated by how it stuck to her skin. "How long were we asleep?"

In answer, Martin showed her his chronometer. "Are you alright?"

Laura nodded. "I will be." She closed her eyes, fighting the urge to sink back down into the sand as she massaged a sore muscle on the back of her neck. "Are you?" Her eyes snapped open and she drew herself up straighter, mortified that she'd just inquired after a commanding officer. If she weren't so sluggish from sleep, she'd never have let herself slip into such an informal mode. Still, that was no excuse. To think she'd acted like a first-day cadet…

Martin's fingers brushed her throat gently, acknowledging the colorations of her scales that grew ever darker in response to her emotional maelstrom. His gaze demanded she look at him, and helplessly, she met his eyes. In them she found respect, not disgust.

He nodded almost imperceptibly then murmured, "Thank you." She'd suffered yesterday and her instinct was to check on his mental state. Interesting.

Laura dared not blink. She was still braced for the coming reprimand.

His gaze fell to her throat where his fingers now traced an invisible pattern. "Perhaps that is where we went wrong."

"Sir?"

"We discouraged empathy, punished it even." His hand grew still then dropped to his side. "Maybe that was our first mistake." It hadn't been their peoples' only error in judgment, certainly, but perhaps that innocent decision about military protocol, which had in turn been absorbed into the rest of society, had been a contributing factor to the current state of affairs. It was something to think about later, much later, when he was awake. Martin nodded to her once in dismissal, then headed for the corridor.

 

****

 

When Martin entered the conference room adjacent to Master Control, he found Lorraine sitting at the console at the end of the table, her hands braced on either side of the monitor while she leaned her head forward. The collar of her uniform was unfastened and Damian was standing behind her massaging the knots out of her neck. In that instant, he knew who had shown Kim the handclasp. Damian and Lorraine made an unlikely pair, but with their very different personalities, he could also see why it worked for them.

Hearing him enter, Lorraine stiffened and started to straighten. Martin dismissed her motion with a hand gesture and headed for the cages located on the opposite wall and the other end of the table from Lorraine. He was hardly in a position to judge them. Once he was up to date, he’d send Lorraine to get some sleep and then go get his pseudoskin replaced. The brief walk from the gym to the conference room had validated the need for masks. He’d walked right past several humans who knew him but they’d neither made eye contact nor recognized him. The latter was hardly surprising, but the former served as a reminder of what the fifth columnists faced in the coming weeks and months. “Any news?”

“We’re still on schedule. We don’t have any new problems to deal with,” Lorraine answered, unable to keep the fatigue from her voice.

“Kim’s in a coma. Julie said it could go either way at this point,” Damian added gently as he resumed kneading Lorraine’s neck and shoulders. “She’s been moved to the sickbay and Anthony put her on a respirator.”

Martin absorbed that silently, nodding once so Damian knew he’d heard. He couldn’t think about that now. He snatched a large rat from a cage and broke its neck. “Lorraine, take a double. Get some rest.” Martin glanced over at Damian as he closed the now empty cage. “Go with her and make sure she does,” he added before he tipped his head back to swallow the rodent.

The door slid open and Mike came in. He glanced around and turned to Damian, “Have you seen —”

Knowing who Mike was looking for, Damian pointed to the unmasked visitor who had turned back towards the cages mid-swallow the moment the conference room door had opened.

Martin leaned forward a bit; his hand was braced against the cage frame while he waited for the rat to move down his esophagus into his stomach.  “What do you want, Mike?”

Damian squeezed Lorraine’s shoulder, sharing her amusement at Mike’s discomfiture. The human tried to hide his surprise at seeing Martin without the pseudoskin and stopped halfway between the door and conference table, clearly unsure of his next move. Damian saw Mike’s throat muscles contract as he swallowed hard.

To his credit, he didn’t avoid looking at Martin and even managed not to stare as he answered, “I just saw Julie. She wanted you to know that Ham got her a supply of antibiotics early this morning.”

“Good.” Martin nodded once, being careful to keep his face turned away. He could tell from Mike’s breathing how uncomfortable he was. “Lorraine, go rest. The officer’s gym is secure,” he suggested.

The communications unit beeped, demanding attention. Damian blocked Lorraine’s hand as she reached for the switch and instead pulled her to her feet and led her to the door.

Martin moved to the closest console and flipped the channel open while shooing Lorraine from the room with a Sirian gesture. He half expected Mike to follow them. “Martin here.”

“Paul wants you to send a shuttle down again. He said he’s got an answer and to meet him at the boat in an hour. He’s bringing someone with him.” Alan paused. “Does that make any sense to you?”

“Yes,” Martin nodded and closed his eyes in relief. Finally, some good news. He glanced at his chronometer. An hour didn’t leave him much time to check the logs, get cleaned up, and get the pseudoskin replaced. “Tell him I’ll be there in an hour and fifteen. Secure and fuel a mid-size shuttle. Out.”

Ignoring Mike for the moment, Martin went back towards the cages, then past them to the small fridge and pulled out a nutrient-rich energy drink. He normally avoided them, but he needed something to help him shake off the fatigue that was clouding his thoughts and making him feel sluggish. He opened the opaque container and took a long drink, suppressing the shudder the cold always elicited. There was no time today to properly warm the blood-based beverage as he preferred. He studied the label for a moment without really seeing the words written there. Time. There wasn’t enough and there was too much. He heard Mike sigh and slump into a chair.

“Do I want to know what you’re drinking?” Mike’s tone was wry.

Martin allowed amusement to be heard in his voice but didn’t turn towards him. “Probably not.” He took another long drink from the container. From the corner of his eye, he could tell Mike was watching him with a gaze that was more curious than wary.

“Then I won’t ask.” Mike sighed then gestured at the fridge. “Is there any water in there?”

Martin retrieved a reusable container that contained water, broke the seal as he opened it, and offered it to Mike. “You’re coping well.” Martin met the human’s gaze at last.

Mike shrugged one shoulder as he accepted the beverage. “You're my friend.” He smiled wanly when the console beeped again, breaking the remaining tension. “Never a dull moment around here, is there?”

Martin mentally agreed and returned to the console. “Martin here.”

“Sir, you asked to be notified when Marjorie Donovan was to be revived.”

Mike slammed the water container down onto the table.

“Hold on.” Martin silenced the channel for a moment. He’d heard Donovan’s sharp intake of breath and muttered comment about forgetting her. He studied Mike carefully. The human’s skin was a sickly grey. “It’s urgent that I meet Paul. We can delay the revival if you want me there.”

Mike stared at the water without seeing it as he shook his head slowly. “No, I just… I didn’t expect… just… tell me where to go.”

Martin flipped a switch. “Where will she be processed?”

“The sector three, level four station.”

“Give Mike Donovan full access when he arrives. Out.”

“Understood, sir.”

“I don’t want to do this.” Mike held up his hand in anticipation of an argument. “I’m going to. I just don’t want to. Damnit, she’s going to blame me.” He finally tore his eyes away from the water and looked Martin in the eye, searching for answers the Visitor didn’t have.

“You don’t have to go. I just thought – “

“She needs to hear it from me. I know that. I appreciate you even thinking of it with everything else going on.” Mike stood up and rubbed his forehead wearily. “Don’t ever have a kid and then get a divorce. It messes you up.” Without another glance at Martin, he picked up the container of water and left the room.

Martin spared another look at his chronometer, finished his drink, and deposited the container into the used bin as he headed out of the room. He could only hope Paul had an answer that was actually going to work. If he focused on that, maybe he could keep his mind off of everything else.

 

****

 

_Thwap._

Jackie retrieved her knife from the target yet again, forcing herself to stay calm in the face of the tedium. Alan had brought it to her earlier that morning, mentioning Martin dropped it off, and she’d spent the greater part of the late morning and early afternoon honing her skills with a target that moved erratically in multiple directions. Did Martin realize that the continued practice was one of few things keeping her from tearing through the ship’s corridors shrieking like a lunatic? She suspected he did. She’d pieced together enough of his background to know he’d seen his fair share of combat. Surely, he knew the mental wounds that usually resulted, even without the influence of the conversion process.

_Thwap._

She had yet to gather the courage to ask about Justin’s fate. She couldn’t face it yet. If the Denver ship were en route to Sirius or assigned to stay close to Earth, it didn’t really matter. Both put Justin equally out of reach, so there was no point in asking for details. Or so she kept telling herself. If he were on the L.A. ship, by some miracle she dared not even consider, he’d find his way back to her. Not that it was likely he was here. Justin had been taken in Denver. If he’d been on the L.A. ship, Kim would have told her. Surely, she’d have looked for names of friends and loved ones in her time on board.

_Thwap._

What was she to tell Jeremy? Having to deal with Ham wasn’t something she’d expected to be faced with right now. What were the odds of their paths crossing at the rebel base? Of course, now that she knew he was here, she had to tell him. She owed Jeremy that much. She’d made her son a promise the day he was born that she’d help him find his father. Once they were back on the surface, Ham might take the opportunity to disappear again.

_Thwap._

 No. That wasn’t likely. He wasn’t going to just blindly trust that everything was fine just because they were all on the surface. He didn’t trust the fifth columnists. Everyone knew that. So surely he’d stick around L.A. for a while, monitoring the situation. Maybe he’d give his contact info to Julie? As the de facto leader of the human resistance, surely Ham would want for Julie to have a way to reach him.

_Thwap._

Kim was dying. That made her responsible to raise Katherine, Jeffrey, and of course, Kevin. God only knew if Martin wanted to be involved with them at all. He was so reserved. He’d been patient with her at the soundstage, but they’d never engaged in idle chatter. He stood apart from everyone. Always, he seemed to be focused on what needed to be done to win the war. He’d been friendly with Kim, but Jackie couldn’t see anything more than that in his actions. And even if he decided to somehow get involved with the children, what was he going to be able to do? He hadn’t grown up on Earth. She had a hard time imagining Martin, with all of his military reserve, taking children to the local playground, much less lying on the floor with a coloring book and crayons listening to a preschooler’s ramblings as they colored in the pre-drawn images of ponies and dinosaurs.

_Thwap._

This wasn’t accomplishing anything. Her arms ached. She’d abdicated care of the kids to Maggie and one of the teenagers whose name she couldn’t even remember. Some guardian she was, bailing on the kids already. On the other hand, in her current state of mind, it was for their own good.

_Thwap._

What was she supposed to feed them as their first solid foods? Damnit, why hadn’t Kim thought to have Anthony check the kids out and see whose physiology their digestive systems most resembled? _Because she was too busy trying to breathe,_ another voice in her head reminded her. That left it up to her.

 _Thwap_.

I can’t deal with this right now. _Yes, you can_ , the other voice shot back. Great. Not only was she hearing voices, now they were arguing with each other.

_Thwap._

Jackie returned the knife to the sheath on her hip and rubbed the sweat off of her forehead. She had to talk to Julie and Anthony about finding out about Katherine and Jeffrey’s physiology while they still had unfettered access to the Visitors’ technology.

 

****

 

After a quick inquiry, Jackie found her sister in sickbay, listening to Kim’s chest with a stethoscope. “Any change?” Jackie mouthed as Julie looked up, having seen her come in.

Julie shook her head, still listening. She moved the bell twice more before straightening up. “She’s no worse, but we might not have gotten her on antibiotics in time. She’s weak, underweight…. I’m afraid the pneumonia is just the final insult.” Julie checked the flow from the I.V. bag yet again. It was so frustrating that there wasn’t something more for her to _do_.

“You know she started taking antitoxin, don’t you?”

Julie looked surprised. “No, no one told me that. Why?”

“Because she didn’t even start coughing until the red dust was released. And since we don’t know exactly what happened in Diana’s lab, or how her immune system was altered, she suspected a connection was possible.”

“What _did_ happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did Brian rape her, too?” Julie gestured to Kim’s unconscious form.

“No!”

“So, she _did_ tell you.”

Jackie sighed before answering in a soft voice, “She wasn’t raped. It wasn’t Brian. That’s all I can tell you.”

“Jackie, she’s my friend, too.”

“I know that.” Jackie sighed and smoothed the wrinkles out of the metallic sheet that was covering Kim. “She didn’t tell me anything for a very long time, and only recently, when she had a complete breakdown, did she tell me some of it. Jul, I’m sorry, but I can’t break that confidence. Not yet. Besides, once she’s better, she can tell you herself. But in the meantime, we need to talk about the twins.”

 

****

 

“So, what do you think?” Candy asked, eager to hear if Martin agreed that the proposed solution was workable. They were sitting aboard the shuttle, Paul, Candy, and of course, their guest, Sam.

“One question,” Martin answered Candy, but looked at Sam.

He nodded his willingness to answer.

“Why?”

“A very good question,” Sam answered solemnly. “What do you know of our history, especially in the context of dealings with the United States Government?”

“Probably not enough.”

“The simple answer, then, is threefold. First, we offer this because it is right that we do so. Second, this is a form of political revenge against the government that has wronged us so many times in the past. Third, this will give us leverage and protection in the future. We will have what they want. That gives us power.”

Martin nodded, appreciating Sam’s candor. “Explain.”

“We call ourselves Tohono O'odham, which means People of the Desert. These lands were ours long before the Europeans came. They brought their wars, their diseases, and their way of life. They took our lands as theirs. They forced our people to adopt their ways. They tried to destroy us from within. The governments of the United States and Mexico divided our lands on a map, but they could not divide us from within. We endure. Even today, they resent our existence. In their efforts to assimilate us, they passed laws granting all members of our tribe, regardless of where on the map they lived, citizenship of the United States.

“That is the loophole we will use. By adopting your people into our tribe, they will become citizens of the United States. As such, the laws in their own constitution will apply. While that alone is no guarantee of safety, it is more than your people have now. As members of our tribe, we will protect them as our own. They will be our own. But we will not ask your people to give up their heritage. _We_ will not try to destroy them from within.

“We have allies in the legal system. If violence is required, we will fight. But if the United States government tries to exert its authority in non-violent ways as they have done in the past, we will fight in the courts. We will cost them money. We will shame them before their own citizens. We will show them our people have honor.

“In return, we ask only to be considered as allies in our own right, not an extension of the governments who claim partial sovereignty over our lands. The technology you bring is valuable. The knowledge of that technology is more valuable. We are willing to share it with outsiders who deal with us fairly. But we will not give it away. That is why.”

“And all of your people have agreed to this?”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “The decision was not unanimous. There will be challenges for all of us. But enough of us agree on this path. We will address the challenges as they arise.”

“How soon can we start sending shuttles?” Martin asked quietly. Only decades of discipline allowed him to hide his relief.

“We can begin immediately, but I believe the cover of darkness is worth waiting for. If the shuttles are seen, there will be questions from outsiders.”

Martin smiled slightly. “That gives us time to explain your offer to the loyalists and start transferring supplies. Will you come with me back to the mothership?”

Sam nodded.

Martin signaled the pilot to descend closer to the boat waiting below. He met Paul’s eyes and Paul nodded acknowledgement before lightly jumping to the deck beneath him. Martin gave Candy a quick hug, whispered a thank you into her hair, and then carefully lowered her to Paul’s waiting arms.

“We’ll keep trying to get more medical supplies,” she called up to him as he keyed the shuttle portal closed. Martin glanced at the box that she’d left with him. Between that and the supplies Ham had secured, maybe Julie would be able to treat all of the humans successfully.

“We’re clear,” he told the pilot and sat down across from Sam again. It was time to talk about the details.

 

****

 

It was well past the end of his double shift when Martin finished planning the details with Sam and then Lorraine. The headache forming behind his eyes had intensified in the last few hours. The constant vigilance for new problems and the slow resolution to old ones was taking its toll.

On his way to his quarters, he decided to look in on Kim and see if the antibiotics had allowed for any improvement. Human metabolism was faster than Sirian, so maybe there had been sufficient time to see an effect.

Kim lay on the gurney, her face covered by a mask that was pumping oxygenated air into her lungs. Other than the subtle movement of her chest as she breathed, she was completely still. Lifeless. Beside her, Mike was slumped on a stool, leaning on the elbow he’d braced on the gurney, and holding Kim’s hand. “Mike? What are you doing here?”

Mike startled and turned towards him and Martin could tell he’d been crying. “I’m being useful despite being useless at the moment. Julie doesn’t want her left alone.”

“Marjorie?”

“Back on the surface.”

Martin waited, knowing the silence would prompt Mike to talk more than questions would.

“Let’s just say we reached a new low, which is pretty amazing given how nasty the divorce was.”

“I’m sorry.”

Mike shook his head. “She didn’t tell me anything I haven’t already told myself. And she was right, too. But enough about me.” He gestured at Kim. “Are you ever going to tell me why she’s so important to the fifth column?”

Martin gave him a questioning look while making an effort to reveal nothing.

“Alan was keeping vigil when Julie suggested I swap with him and give him a break. You’re the fourth person from your group to check in on her in the last several hours. You didn’t come here looking for me.”

Martin gazed silently at Kim with an intense expression that Mike couldn’t read, but it gave him pause. “Never mind. How are her vitals?”

That got him another silent, questioning look.

Mike gestured at the monitors. “I can’t read any of that, so I’ve just tried to gauge her fever by touch. And her pulse is so weak I can’t get a good read on it. While I’m sitting here feeling sorry for myself, I’d like to at least pretend I’m helping.”

Martin shook his head slightly as he glanced over the readouts. “I don’t know what they should be for a human. And some are too technical without training, which I lack.”

“Well, what’s her heart rate?”

“Eighty-five per …we never came up with translations for some of the time units.”

“Can you convert it to minutes?”  Mike waited while Martin stared at the monitor, not really seeing it as he did a quick mental calculation. 

“About 110 per minute.”

“That’s high. Resting pulse should be closer to 70 or 80. What about blood pressure? There should be two numbers.”

Martin scanned the screens and found the values.  “Units?”

“Millimeters of mercury.”

“What?”

“Gimme a sec.” Mike rubbed the back of his neck trying to remember. “Um, one atmosphere of pressure is 760 mm mercury, I think. It’s been a few years…”

Martin moved to a console and typed quickly, glancing at the screens above Kim’s bed a couple of times to get the numbers he needed for the calculations. “Forty-three and sixty-four.” His eyes move to Mike, waiting for his assessment.

Mike shook his head and whistled softly. “BP at 64 over 43? That’s low. Real low. It should be closer to 110 over 80.”  He couldn’t hide his concern.

Martin kept his face carefully neutral as he studied Kim. He refused to back away from the truth, but the knot of worry in his chest was tightening as the day wore on.

“You got anything to write with around here?”

“What for?” Martin pulled his eyes away from Kim, opened a drawer, and pulled out a data pad. He turned it on before handing it to Mike along with a stylus.

Intrigued, Donovan then tested the stylus on the screen. Seeing a darker area result, he quickly drew a number line going from zero to ten, with Arabic numerals written below each tick mark. “I’m thinking something like this, but in the range of the numbers you gave me. Show me where they are on the monitors and I’ll watch for changes. Just because I can’t read the characters you put above the line doesn’t mean I can’t match them up. If she heads in the wrong direction, I’ll let Julie know.” He handed the data pad back to Martin. “What do you think?”

Mike could tell Martin’s jaw was tight and he saw the Visitor’s throat muscles ripple once as he gazed at Kim with that same inscrutable, intense expression.

“It’s a good idea,” he said quietly before clearing the data screen and focusing on the task.

Determined to fill the silence that led his mind to unpleasant places, Mike kept the conversation going. “You’re back to wearing pseudoskin already? I thought you were going without for a while.”

Martin shook his head slightly without taking his eyes from his work. “That’s not an option. But to answer your question, the old one was damaged. It made more sense to replace it and you caught me in the interim.”

“I’m sorry we’re such a racist, bigoted bunch.”

“So are we.” Hearing Mike’s soft, surprised inhale, Martin looked up. “Learning we were going to mimic the human form was not something any of us were pleased about. There were some violent uprisings in the beginning.” Martin smiled a little bit at Mike’s reaction and turned his focus back to the datapad. “Of course, those individuals were used as reminders of the consequences of disobedience. That drove the reactions underground, but they’re still there. Our people are _very_ much alike.”

“So how about now?”

“What do you mean?”

“How do you feel about having to pass as human now?”

“Aside from the hassle and discomfort, it’s...” Martin paused, searching for the best word. “It’s inconvenient. I’ve learned to appreciate you humans for who you are, but I’d prefer to be myself instead of a mimic.” Finished, he handed Mike the datapad with the neatly written Sirian text lined beside the equivalent values in Arabic numerals.

Mike sighed and let his shoulders slump a little. “Guess I didn’t help that at all today.”

“No, Mike,” Martin corrected. He held the human’s gaze without blinking, willing him to understand. “You’re not used to seeing us as we are so you’re bound to be uncomfortable. But you stayed. That means a lot.”

*****

“Kevin!” The little girl called out as she broke away from Caleb and ran across the landing bay to where Kevin was watching some other children kick a ball. Jackie and Maggie were watching the kids, making sure the game didn’t get out of hand or move beyond the area they’d designated for ball games.

For the first time ever, Jackie saw Kevin actually look happy and he embraced the younger child in a hug.

“Where’s Papa?” the girl asked, looking around. 

“Oh, boy,” Jackie muttered to Maggie before she stepped forward. “Hi there! I’m Jackie,” she said as she went over to them and knelt down. “What’s your name?”

“Jessica.” She pointed to Kevin. “That’s my brother.”

Kevin nodded, still not speaking.

“Jessica, I'm glad you found your brother. But I have something sad to tell you. Your Papa is dead. The bad Visitors killed him when he was helping us fight them.”

Jessica’s lower lip quivered a bit. “They killed Mama, too.”

“I know. But you and Kevin are safe now. We’ll take care of you. There’s a lady named Kim who is my _best_ friend and she promised your Papa she’d take care of Kevin. She’s going to take care of both of you so that you and Kevin will be together.” Jackie took Jessica’s hand in hers. “Were you sleeping on the ship? Did you just wake up?”

Jessica nodded, but her eyes were wary.

“I’ll be that was pretty scary, wasn’t it?”

Another nod.

“You don’t have to be scared now, though. The Visitors you see in here are our friends. They’ve been helping us wake everyone up who was asleep so you can all go home. No one in this whole big room will hurt you, okay? And you get to stay with Kevin. Are you hungry?”

Jessica shook her head.

“Well, you let me know when you do get hungry and we’ll get you something to eat. Do you have any questions?”

“Why won’t Kevin talk?”

“He hasn’t felt like talking because he’s so sad about your Papa and Mama dying. Do you think you can help us figure out what he wants when he needs something?”

Jessica nodded. “I’m a big girl.”

“I can tell. How old are you?”

“Four. I’m gonna be this many in April.” She held up five fingers.

“Really? You want to know something really silly?”

“Uh huh.”

“You’re _already_ five! You slept through your birthday!”

Jessica’s eyes went wide and tears started to well up in her eyes again. “No party?”

“Oh, you still get a party.” Jackie’s knees were screaming at her and she gave up on kneeling and sat down on the landing bay floor. “We can have a party here, and we can have another one after we get to Kim’s house. Kim has a swimming pool and we can have a swimming party for you and _lots_ of presents and cake and ice cream. Would you like that?” She waited for another one of Jessica’s silent nods before continuing, “Okay then, we need to make some party plans.”

*****

“What’s the story with her?” Maggie asked Caleb quietly as he stood beside her watching Jackie with Jessica and Kevin and occasionally tossing a foul ball back into play.

“Someone recognized her last name and thought she looked a bit like George, so they asked me to bring her down here and see if they were related before we sent her to the surface. Guess they were right.” The large man shook his head. “Poor kids. How do you explain any of this to them?”

Maggie looked sideways at him. “You telling me it makes sense to the adults? I must have missed that class.”

Caleb laughed. “Good point. Where is Kim? Seems like we should introduce them at least and make sure she’s on board with taking in another kid.”

“She’s in sick bay… in a coma. Julie said it’s a really bad case of pneumonia and it could go either way. We’re just waiting to see if the antibiotics she got a hold of help.”

“That’s not good.”

“I know.” Maggie folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself a bit. “Not to mention the fact that Kim is really tight with a lot of the fifth columnists. I’ve heard rumors that some of them are planning on going home with her. That’s going to be really tough on Jessica and Kevin.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Caleb grew thoughtful. He caught another ball that was headed towards him and tossed it back to the kids who were still playing. “When my wife died, I was surprised at how well Ben adjusted. It might be good for the kids to be around our allies rather than grow up hating all the Visitors.”

“They’re not all like Willie.”

“No. But they’re not all like Diana, either. As long as they get to stay together and they feel safe, they’ll be okay.”

“I don’t think I’m ever going to feel safe again,” Maggie admitted. “I’ve seen too much.”

“I hear you. But as bad as it’s been, I keep coming back to the good. Look around you. You think we’d have ever gotten a group like this together before the Visitors came? Besides, for every creep like Daniel, there’s a Maggie and a Julie to counteract them. These kids have all lost a lot, but look at them-- they’re laughing and playing some made-up form of kickball and acting like normal kids.” He kicked another ball back in bounds. “We’re going to be okay.”

 

****

 

“If anything happens and you need to contact me, you can reach me through these individuals,” Martin said, handing Sam a paper with Kim and Judy’s names and phone numbers on them.

“Do not worry. Their lives will be different, but I believe this will work. You could have killed them or handed them over to those who would treat them as criminals. When the victors are compassionate, healing can begin.”

“I hope so.” Martin shook hands with him and walked Sam to the last shuttle. The loyalists had been sent in groups of between 40 and 60 to various locations throughout the tribal lands to avoid overburdening any one region with a large influx of individuals. The secondary benefit was that any budding alliances against the fifth column’s efforts would be likewise disrupted, at least for a time, while everyone adjusted to living on the surface. Martin and Sam had arranged for medical supplies, antitoxin, and datapads filled with medical information to accompany three of the groups to supplement the tribal health care system. In time, Martin hoped to send the long-term toxin protection as well. But that would wait until he knew that the loyalists were not going to organize a rebellion of their own.

“Do not be surprised if the United States Government sends representatives to you and begins making demands. That is what they do.”

Martin smiled. “I’m familiar with that mentality. But you bring up an important point. What would you like me to tell these representatives if they ask where everyone on the ship went?”

Sam laughed. “I’m sure they will ask! Tell them to contact the tribal chairman’s office with their questions. Here, this is for you.” He handed Martin one of his business cards. “But don’t give this to them. They should be able to find me on their own. Make them work for their answers!”

He grew serious. “You have done well, Martin. In time, your people will appreciate the decisions you have made. When the resentment softens, I will let you know and you will come visit us. In the future, if any fifth columnists decide to seek refuge with us, they will be welcomed as well.”

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

Martin nodded a dismissal to the loyalist who was standing by the shuttle ramp and watched as he followed Sam on board and closed the shuttle doors. He could only hope this solution proved to be as workable in reality as it did in theory. With a sigh, he glanced at his chronometer and straightened his vest before going to find Ham.


	10. Somewhere, Feeling Guilty

“Are you sure this isn’t going to bother you?” Anthony asked Jackie as he brought a container of live mice over to the table and set the cage down. They were in one of the crew lounges, and at them moment, they had it to themselves.

“No, I’m not. But I’ll get used to it. These kids are hungry and formula alone isn’t satisfying them anymore.” She cradled Katherine in her arms and glanced at Jeffrey, nestled in the basket on the floor by her feet. “How do we know they won’t choke?”

“There isn’t any way to be sure. But like I told Julie earlier, all of the tests we did indicate their digestive tracts are more Sirian than human. If they’re going to have trouble, it’s better to find out now while we’re still on the ship.”

“It’s a heck of way to get out of eating broccoli,” Jackie muttered more to herself than Anthony, as she eyed the frightened mice.

“You don’t like vegetables?”

“I do now. But when I was a kid? No way! Mom had a rule that we had to eat what was on our plates before we left the dinner table. I sat there so long some nights I actually fell asleep in my chair. Lima beans were the _worst_. I swear Mom made them some nights just to torture me. And I still hate lima beans.” Jackie smiled at the memory. “Julie hated spinach. If Mom wasn’t paying close enough attention, we’d help each other out. I’d eat her spinach one night if she ate my lima beans another night. Looking back, I wonder if Mom actually knew what we were doing and just pretended not to notice. I looked the other way more than once when Jeremy and Justin were scheming together.”

 “So, how do you want to do this? Should I hold her upright?” Jackie asked, changing the subject. Mentioning Justin felt good, but it also stirred up emotions she couldn’t deal with right now.

Anthony shook his head. “The mice aren’t that big. It shouldn’t matter if her head is tipped back.”

Jackie watched as he snatched one of the smallest mice from the container and closed the lid. The creature squeaked frantically in his grasp. She wrinkled her nose. “Does it _have_ to be alive?”

“No,” Anthony answered, snapping the neck with this thumb. “Better?”

“Better is a relative term. But at least it’s quiet.” She raised her elbow, lifting Katherine’s head up a bit and held steady while Anthony held the mouse in front of Katherine’s face, just above her mouth. The infant’s eyes fixed immediately on the rodent. Her little tongue flicked wildly and she smacked her lips a couple of times, apparently unsure of just what to do. But when Anthony touched the mouse to her lips, she quickly snapped at it, taking it in her mouth and biting down hard around the body.

The sight of blood dribbling down Katherine’s chin made Jackie’s stomach roll. “Great,” she muttered, turning her head away so she didn’t have to watch. “Isn’t she supposed to swallow it whole?”

“She’s trying to,” Anthony said, watching the infant closely. Katherine worked her jaw again and the mouse slid down her throat, the telltale lump disappearing as the mouse passed further into Katherine’s digestive tract. “There. Perfect.”

Jackie looked back and saw Katherine looking up at both of them. “You have a messy face!” Jackie chided her gently, willing her own stomach to stop churning. Gently, she used the ever-present “spit rag” to wipe her chin. “Now what? Give her another one?”

Anthony shook his head. “Let’s wait awhile and make sure it stays down.”

“We are _not_ going there!” Jackie shook her head as she glanced up at Anthony and smiled wryly. “Normal barf is one thing, but I cannot deal with partly digested mice.” She shifted Katherine around so she was partly sitting in her lap. “Hear that, princess? No puking. That’s a rule.” Jackie kissed the top of her head and swallowed hard. “This is not how I planned living my life," she grumbled, then sighed. “Okay, princess, let see how your brother does.”

 

****

 

Martin found Ham standing on one of the walkways overlooking the landing bay the rebels had claimed as their main base of operations. He waited a moment, expecting a sarcastic comment. When Ham stayed silent, Martin said, “The answer to your earlier question is the Tohono O'odham. Do you know of them?”

“I’ve heard of them.” Ham said nothing of his own dealings with the tribe, or his own border crossings aided by its members over the years as he worked to break up drug smuggling rings or ferry innocents to safety. “They’re a Native American tribe located in Arizona, I believe.”

“And Mexico.”

“Julie’s going to be pissed. Gooder, too. They still expect full consultation with every decision.”

“I know.”

“You going to tell them before or after it’s done?”

“After… if they ask.” Martin didn’t volunteer that it was a moot point, but he assumed Ham had already figured that out. “We’re about half done reviving everyone in the hold and we’re almost done securing the remaining shuttles, which Laura was supposed to involve you with.” Martin paused, waiting for Ham’s nod that verified he’d been consulted.

“She did. It’s good you found a way to deactivate the homing beacons. But the military command at the release base and the U.S. government are going to be pissed about the shuttles all disappearing.”

“We’ll give them a shuttle. Maybe it will distract them from their anger that the mothership has been destroyed.” This was the first time Martin had mentioned his plans to destroy the mothership to any of the humans and he wondered how Ham would respond.

“How you going to prevent the debris from being scavenged for parts?”

Martin realized Ham fully understood the situation. “We’re going to sink it in the Mariana trench, out of reach of everyone. Once that’s done, the real work will begin.”

Ham nodded at the humans below them. “They’re making plans for things getting back to normal. They’re not going to want to buy what you’re selling. They want picnics and parades, not a call to arms.”

“Then we’ll proceed without their help. There’s a fifth column network in place all around your planet. Losing the motherships is going to make communication with those groups more difficult, but we’ve been devising workarounds. I assume your network is likewise still functioning. We have to start planning for the next phase of the war. I’ll make sure you know where I can be found once we go to the surface.”

Ham raised an eyebrow and looked over at Martin for the first time. “Do you _seriously_ think I wouldn’t find you?”

“We don’t have time to waste finding out.”

“You think I’m going to work with you.”

“I know you’ll do whatever is necessary to win. For now, that means we work together.” Martin turned to the human and studied him. “I know it won’t mean anything to you now, but I give you my word that I will not lie to you. I may not tell you everything, and there are some questions I simply won’t answer. But I will not lie to you or deliberately mislead you. There’s too much at stake.”

Ham thought about that for a moment. “Ever eat a human?”

“Yes,” Martin answered without hesitation. He’d suspected Ham would ask a few questions to test his willingness to answer. Did Tyler realize how well Martin was learning to predict his actions? He expected that he did, but would never admit as much. Treating Martin as a peer wasn’t something the human was ready to do yet. Maybe he never would, or only if hidden under barbed comments.

“Ever sleep with Diana?”

“I’d never risk sleeping in her presence. If you are referring to sex, yes.”

“You expect me to trust you?”

“No.”

“Why are you fighting?”

“The Leader has to be stopped. He’s set us on a path to self-destruction. It may already be too late… but I have to try if my people are going to survive. It’s what my Master trained me for.”

“Master?”

“It’s an imperfect translation. He was a mentor, teacher… there is no equivalent term in English to describe the relationship.”

“And you’re honor-bound to see this through?”

“I’m not bound by an oath, but I’m fully committed to protecting Earth. Whether or not I’ll stay here if we get the chance to take the fight back home is a more complicated issue. I’ll decide that when the time comes.”

“Complicated? How?”

Martin shook his head and turned back towards the railing, resting his hands lightly on the top bar. “You don’t need to know yet.”

Ham leaned his forearms on the railing and pretended to study the rebels below while he watched Martin in his peripheral vision. “How long do you think we have before the ships come back?”

“A few months, maybe a year. Right now, they’re consolidating supplies and prisoners so they can send fully stocked ships home. The rest will remain here, hidden behind Earth’s moon while they regroup and plan. Diana will be very impatient, but she will have to strengthen her position and explain what happened to Pamela and John. Since she had no authority beyond this ship, her next step will be to secure a higher position in the command chain. And she has to explain the loss of this ship, which won’t be easy, even for her. They all thought Earth would be an easy conquest.” Martin paused and smiled slightly at the memories and his own role in the rebellion.

“The Leader is not going to be happy with Diana, but he’s in no position to prevent her from taking charge of the fleet that stays here. The big variable is whether or not he’ll send more ships with fresh troops. That depends on how the war back home is going and there hasn’t been much news about that. If he sends more troops, he may also send someone to take command from her.”

“Oh, she’d _love_ that. She’ll just kill her way to command again.”

Martin nodded. “That’s exactly what she’ll do, but she’ll take the time to make it look like an accident.”

“Worst case scenario, how many more ships would we be dealing with?”

“Another forty or so, plus those that stayed, which is probably close to thirty.”

“Think we can do it?”

Martin glanced at Ham. “I don’t know.” Shaking his head, he looked back at the rebels. “The odds are not in our favor. But we made it this far against those same odds.”

“So we do as much damage as we can and hope we get lucky.”

Martin nodded, watching several children bounce a ball in a controlled fashion while they darted around each other. Eventually, one of them hurled it into a large box that had been placed up on a ledge, causing some of them to cheer.

“When do you want to start planning?”

“I suggest waiting a month or so once we destroy the ship. That will let us see how the governments respond to the disappearance of the ships. And the long shifts are taking a toll on everyone. We all need some rest.”

“Your people are in for a huge case of culture shock.”

“I know. Even readjusting from active duty to prolonged leave always takes a few days.” Martin nodded towards the people below them. “They’re facing a bigger readjustment than they realize. Is there even a support structure in place to help with the transition?”

Ham shook his head. “Nope. Even the professional military is in denial about post-traumatic stress. Good soldiers are supposed to go to war one day and go home and help Grandma carry her groceries the next without any difficulty switching between the two. And if it doesn’t work that way, you’re not supposed to let anyone know.”

“What’s the suicide rate?”

“A lot higher than it should be. Add in drug abuse, alcoholism, depression, and anxiety attacks and the numbers get even worse.” Ham snickered at his next thought. “But we can fix that. We’ll just send Gooder around to cheer them up with one of his pep talks.”

“Mike believes negative thinking causes ulcers,” Martin said. Would Ham acknowledge the comment as a sign of their mutual understanding? He’d never be friends with this man, but a relationship of respect would certainly make the coming months easier. He knew Ham would continue distancing himself from Martin with rude comments and insults when others were around. In return, Martin would continue to pretend that he didn’t realize it was all an act.

Ham snorted. “Gooder _causes_ ulcers, not to mention high blood pressure and baldness.”

Martin smiled a little bit. It was ironic how the individuals changed, and even the species changed, but the games remained familiar. But even he didn’t realize that Ham was thinking the same thing.

 

****

 

“I don’t know if I can go through with this.” Jackie stood inside the entrance to the conversion chamber, fighting the urge to turn and run for her life.

“It’s up to you.” Anthony stood beside her, watching her carefully.

“They raped my mind.” She spat the words out through clenched teeth as she held back tears.

“I know,” Anthony told her quietly. He knew all too well what had been done. He’d done it himself to dozens of other humans, with far greater success than Diana had found with Jackie.

Jackie took a deep breath, trying her best to focus on the present, not the memories that were flooding her and pushing her to the edge of panic. “What do I have to do?”

“We’ll go through the first sequence just as before. Do you remember being chased? The difference will be you’ll find an escape.” He’d already told her Megan had found her conversion files. How did it feel to know that other people knew your deepest fears and your most vulnerable moments?

“Do I have to be drugged?”

Anthony nodded slowly.

“Does the door have to be closed?”

Another nod.

“Can Alan be in there with me?” Jackie tried unsuccessfully to keep the desperation from her voice.

“No, but he’ll be right at the door. We can shut it down any time and he’ll go right in.”

Jackie closed her eyes, trying to fight back the panic. “Can I at least keep my clothes on this time? It was damn cold in there.”

“Yes, of course.” He didn’t re-state what they both knew: she’d been naked to make her feel more vulnerable. “You should know that the temperature is the same as out here. The cold was part of the illusion.”

“Let’s do it before I lose my nerve.”

Alan took her hand and she flinched. “Sorry,” she apologized and reached out to take his hand before he could move away. He smiled at her but didn’t comment. Together, they walked into the conversion chamber itself and he held her steady while she stepped onto the platform. “Drugs or clamps first?”

“Your choice.” Anthony offered, holding the subcutaneous injector in his hand as he followed them into the room. “The restraints are only to keep you from running into the wall and hurting yourself more.”

“I thought Diana _liked_ seeing blood splatter everywhere,” she snapped, holding out her arm. Her free hand clenched Alan’s arm and she leaned into him as he stood beside her; his other arm was gently rubbing her back. She heard him whisper softly in her ear, “Breathe. Diana isn’t here.”

The pain in her arm was followed by a wave of disorientation as the drugs took effect. She felt her balance go and Alan held her up. Everything became distant. She heard Anthony say ‘Hold her’ and felt the restraints grab her legs. Hands moved over her body, gently attaching sensors and she felt like she was going to throw up. She couldn’t move. Her heart was pounding so hard it roared in her ears. Another voice asked if she was ready but she couldn’t answer. It was all she could do to just breathe.

The hands let go. Suddenly she was someplace else. Someone was chasing her. It was dark. She was alone. Who left a kid alone in the middle of the night? “Mommy?” she heard a much younger version of herself cry out. A low growl told her the predator was getting close.

And then it stopped being an illusion. The only voice she heard was Diana’s.

She heard Diana telling her to look for the door. But she knew it was a trick. That’s how Diana worked. It was all a trick. The only way to survive this was to… was to…

Jackie moved beyond conscious thought and let out a primal scream.

At the controls, Anthony slammed the switch to open the door and watched mutely as Alan dashed in, released Jackie from the restraints, and wrestled her to the floor. She was fighting him as best she could with her drug-slowed reflexes, totally unaware that the machines were off and it was Alan who was trying to subdue her before she hurt herself. After a moment, it became clear that she wasn’t going to stop fighting anytime soon. With a muttered curse, Anthony picked up the sedative he’d prepared just in case and went in to administer it.

Jackie’s body went limp as the drugs took effect. Alan carefully moved off of her and turned her over. She was still breathing. He looked up at Anthony. “I don’t know how you faced doing that day after day.”

Anthony checked her pulse manually and removed the sensors. “I just kept telling myself I’d rather be out there than in here.” He sat down on the platform wearily. “This was a mistake.”

“No, it wasn’t. She knew what was involved and she wanted to try.” He looked at her unconscious body. “She has more courage than I ever did.”

“Me, too. But what if this just made it worse?”

“Then she’ll fight her way back again. She did it before.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“I know. I’ve watched her a lot when she didn’t realize anyone was paying attention. But she wanted to do this, as much for you as for her.”

Anthony looked sharply at him with that. “What do you mean?”

“She knows you’re trying to atone. She wanted it to work, too. And when she wakes up she’s going to be as mad as Diana on a bad day that she wasn’t strong enough to keep going. She’s going to feel like she let you down. Since she’s the one who was drugged, it’s up to you to keep things in perspective for both of you. Otherwise, you’re both going to be so wrapped up in how you disappointed each other you’re _both_ going to be a mess.” Alan smiled at him. “In case you haven’t noticed, we have enough to deal with right now without you two losing it.”

Anthony just looked at him, his mask totally blank as he forgot to channel his stunned reaction into human expressions.

“Come on.” Alan stood up and picked Jackie up in his arms. “Let’s get her to a sickbay and restrained on a gurney before she wakes up and tries to kill both of us.”

*****

Jackie regained consciousness slowly and at first, couldn’t remember what had happened. She tried to move and found her limbs were restrained. “No!” she screamed, fighting to break free. Was she still in the conversion chamber?

“Jackie.” A firm hand gripped her shoulder.

Cautiously, she opened her eyes, still writhing in the restraints. Her eyes darted around the room wildly, taking in her unfamiliar surroundings and red uniform. She was still on the ship. “Let me go!” she spat out as she struggled futilely. She had to sit up, run, get away.

“Jackie, look at me.”

The voice finally broke through to her and she looked more closely at her captor. “Alan?”

He smiled and nodded, pushing her shoulders back onto the bed. “Do you know where you are?”

“Ship?” she whispered, ceasing to struggle, though she still scanned the room, expecting Diana to appear at any moment.

“Yes, in sick bay. I’m going to let you up now, as long as try not to kill me again. You hit hard for a human.”

She relaxed little, starting to remember that she’d been with Anthony and Alan, working to reverse the conversion, not worsen it. She nodded her understanding and felt the restraints slip away.

“Do you want some water?” Alan asked gently as he reached for a container nearby. “I’m going to help you sit up,” he warned before putting his arm beneath her shoulders and pulling her up.

She gulped the water down. Her throat was raw and while the water wasn’t cold, it helped ease the pain a little bit. “What happened?” Her voice was hoarse from screaming.

“Not much. But you won’t be doing that again. It was worth trying, but it’s obvious that the conversion chamber is _not_ the way to reverse the effects of the conversion chamber. Do you remember any of it?”

Jackie thought carefully. “I was being chased. And Diana was trying to trick me into looking for a door that I knew wasn’t going to be there. How long did I last?”

“About thirty seconds.” Seeing her expression, he hastened to add, “Which was about 15 _minutes_ longer than I would have. I don’t know how you even got up the courage to walk in there after what Diana did to you.”

“That’s _it?_ Thirty seconds?” Her eyes welled up with tears and her lower lip started to quiver. “Where’s Anthony?”

“Off somewhere feeling guilty, I expect.”

“Guilty? He didn’t….”

Alan put his fingers under her chin. “We both know he did. Many times. Just not you, and not _this_ time.”

“But…”

“And fixing you would be a way to make up for it… a little bit. Or so he thought. You did, too, which is why you agreed to try this. And now you’re feeling guilty for it not working.”

“But….”

“Am I right?”

Jackie let out a sigh, closed her eyes, and slumped against him. “I thought you were in security, not psychology.”

Alan tightened his arm around her in a gentle hug. “Understanding psychology helps a lot in security. And security provides lots of opportunities to observe people.”

“But not humans. Ted told me you were hardly ever off the ship before you had to run.” She pressed her cheek against his chest, letting him hold her. She shuddered, then slid her arms around his waist and clung to him. He just tightened his grip and stroked her hair. The Visitors hadn’t touched her much, but apparently he’d figured out how important it was for her to be held right how. Kim had taught him well.

“True. But I’ve watched you and Kim enough to know you’re not that different from us.”

“You’re using _me_ as the basis of your understanding of humans?” Jackie shook her head ruefully. “I think I owe an apology to a few billion people.”

“I disagree. You set a high standard for them to live up to.”


	11. Dominance Games

Kim woke slowly, feeling very weak and groggy. Her mouth felt dry and gritty from the air being forced down her throat. Exhaling seemed to take too much effort, but she trusted that whatever the machine was, it wasn't going to kill her. It had probably saved her life.

She flexed her fingers, confirming that someone was holding her hand. Who would have time to sit with her?

"Kim?" an unfamiliar, human voice asked. She squeezed his hand again. Opening her eyes was too much effort right now; they were stuck shut. She must have been out for several days.

"Water," she mouthed, hoping her companion would notice.

"Dry mouth, huh? I can imagine?" the kind voice answered gently. "Just gimmie a second to find some and let them know you're awake."

Kim heard the man stand up and walk a few steps. "It's Mike. Will you find Julie Parish and let her know that Kim finally woke up in sick bay?"

"Yes, sir," the Sirian voice answered. It wasn't someone Kim knew. But why was Mike Donovan sitting with her? If he knew how to use the communication system, he had to have been with her for some time.

"Okay, let's get you some water. Cross your fingers that it's water, because I can't read the labels and I got a nasty surprise the other day when I didn't pour a bit out into my hand first. I don’t know _what_ it was. I don’t _want_ to know what it was, but it wasn't water!"

Kim smiled at that and knew he'd probably had either an energy drink or a nutrient supplement. Both were blood-based and had become staples in her own diet during her time on the ship. She'd grown to appreciate both of them and wouldn't object to drinking one now. In fact, it might be good for her.

Mike returned to her side. "You ready to sit up?"

"Eyes stuck shut," she mouthed.

"Okay, hang on."

She heard him set the container down and fumble around, probably looking for a cloth. She'd be able to find the supplies herself if she had the strength to get up and read the labels on the storage units. "Oh, hell," she heard him grumble softly as he opened and closed different cabinets.

A minute later, a soft, wet cloth was gently rubbed across her eyes, removing the grit and mucus. She opened her eyes carefully, blinking in the bright light.

"Hi," he said, smiling at her. His green eyes were friendly, but his face was lined with fatigue. He looked like he hadn't slept well in weeks.

Carefully, he removed the oxygen mask from her face, put an arm behind her shoulders, and helped her sit up. With his other hand, he held the container of water to her lips and let her tip it to drink. She took several careful sips and pushed it away. "Thanks. If you get one of those other containers, I can read the label. One of them would be good for me now."

"You're seriously going to drink that swill?"

"Have before," she whispered as Mike helped her lie down again. "Acquired taste."

"You are a woman of mystery."

Kim closed her eyes and tried to gather her wits as she rested. Jackie would be taking care of the kids. How long had she been unconscious? And why was Mike sitting with her? Surely Martin wouldn’t have asked him; Martin was too cautious to have confided anything to Mike during this dangerous time of transition. And the comment about being a mystery indicated Mike was operating with little information. Maybe being too weak to talk much would be her best strategy for now. And it was pretty close to the truth.

"Okay, here are your choices," Mike said, holding two containers up for her to see. She pointed to the left one, a nutrient supplement, and let her hand fall wearily back to the gurney she was on. She was so tired and could easily fall back asleep.

Mike broke the seal and helped her sit up again. Kim forced herself to drink about a third of the container before pushing it away. "Put it back in the fridge and I'll finish it in a bit."

"How can you drink that without gagging?"

Kim smiled without answering and closed her eyes as Mike helped her lie down again.

*****

“How do you want to handle this?” the shuttle pilot said over the communications channel.

Lorraine bit back a curse and shook her head at the stupidity of the humans on the surface. “For now, Scott, fly as slowly as you can to buy us time. Take them to the same shuttle bay you’ve been using to collect the revived humans. I’ll have a security team meet you there to escort them up to Master Control.”

“Understood.”

She switched to the landing bay and asked to speak to Caleb. “What’s up?” His rich voice boomed and he smiled at her image on his screen.

“Don’t send any more shuttles to the surface for a little bit. Apparently, the Air Force is unwilling to release people without extensive questioning and they can’t keep up with the numbers we’ve been sending them.”

“You’re saying the Air Force is holding the people we revived for questioning?”

“Exactly. We need to find other places to send the shuttles and soon. I’ll talk with the others and see what ideas they have. In the meantime, there is a group of their officers on their way up to talk to us. I told Scott we’d have a security team meet them and escort them up to Master Control.”

“That’s all we need,” Caleb said with a sigh. “Okay. I’ll let everyone here know what’s going on. I’m sure we can whip up an impressive-looking security team with the fifth columnists who are down here already.” He smiled again. “How about we have the military group take the long way up to Master Control instead of the direct route? Let them get impressed at how big the ship is!”

“I like it.” Lorraine smiled back at him. She could see why Martin spoke so highly of the human.”

“Okay then, one long, long tour of empty corridors it is.”

Lorraine closed the channel and broadcast a general message for Martin, Julie, and Mike to contact her immediately. Martin checked in first, having just wakened in his quarters. It only took a few minutes for them to decide on a new course of action and while they were talking, she was able to bring Mike into the conversation when Master Control patched through his own response to the summons. He promised to join them as soon as someone took over for him in sick bay. Another crew member relayed a message that Julie was on her way up. Finished, Lorraine joined the crew in Master Control and waited for their uninvited guests to arrive.

*****

“Remember, Julie, keep up the image of a unified front. Don’t let them push you around. These guys are used to giving orders, not negotiating,” Ham coached her as they walked through the maze of corridors. Julie had more than proven herself in his eyes, not that he’d ever admit it to her, but he also knew that dealing with civilians could be a lot different than military officers on an ego trip. Colonel Johnson, whom he’d dealt with when first setting up the release base, was one of the latter. “I also know that Johnson has issues with women in positions of authority, but that’s his problem. Don’t let it get to you. And if Martin wants to handle him, let him.”

Julie stopped abruptly and turned to Ham, her mouth gaping slightly at his less than hostile comment about Martin.

Ham didn’t even pretend to misunderstand the cause of her surprise. “I don’t like him. I never will. But if you and the others are going to insist on playing nice with the lizards rather than killing them, it may as well be him that’s in charge of the scaly lot.”

“Coming from you, that’s quite a compliment.”

Tyler shrugged. “He’s been making the right decisions. At least, so far.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Julie said softly, still a bit stunned at seeing Ham admit any sort of respect or support for the fifth columnist. “Don’t worry,” she said, holding up her hand as Ham started to speak again. “My lips are sealed.” She turned away and started walking again so he wouldn’t see her smile.

*****

Mike found Martin just outside of Master Control. The pair entered together and Martin led them over to the communications console. “Dennis, I need you to help Mike make contact with the local TV station…” Martin paused, looking to Mike to supply the station name.

“KDHB.”

“…and then patch the ship communications system into the phone network to make other arrangements for releasing the humans in the hold.”

“Are there problems with the release base?” Dennis asked out of pure curiosity, his hands already busy working the controls to set up the necessary link.

“Yeah,” Mike grumbled. “It seems our military is more interested in questioning people than sending them home. They even demanded we slow down the rate at which we’re releasing people.”

“How can the media help with that?” Dennis asked. “I’ll have a channel ready for you in just a moment.”

“We’re going to send the next shuttles right to the station,” Mike explained. “And then we’ll notify them of each release point we set up after that, right before the shuttle gets there. With it all on live TV, the military won’t dare try to interfere.”

“Which means you and Mike are going to be busy for awhile. Don’t forget to let Caleb know what’s going on,” Martin added.

Dennis nodded while Mike stole a chair from another duty station and plopped down into it, right beside where Dennis was working. At Dennis’s nod, Mike spoke into the microphone. “This is Mike Donovan from on board the L.A. mothership and I need to talk to the station manager, pronto.”

Martin watched the two for a moment then moved away. He caught Lorraine’s gaze and indicated she should join him in the officer’s conference room with a tilt of his head. He softly asked Zachary and Eileen to stand guard outside, and then followed Lorraine through the doors.

“They should be here soon,” Martin commented, taking a seat at the head of the conference table.

Lorraine claimed a chair for herself and activated her computer unit as she shook her head. “That depends on exactly how many empty corridors Caleb tells the security team to escort our guests through.” She smiled a little. “I like him.”

*****

“Please, sit down.” Martin stood and gestured to the available chairs around the conference table. A subtle nod dismissed the security team and the conference room doors slid shut as he sat back down. Lorraine was to his right with Julie next to her. Ham, as usual, was off in the corner, observing quietly and pretending to look disinterested in the conversation. 

“I demand to have our weapons returned to us!”

“They will be when you return to the surface,” Martin said evenly. “I assume you’re Colonel Johnson?”

“I am.” He turned to Julie with a steely gaze. “Who are you?”

“Juliet Parish. Please, Colonel, won’t you and your men sit down?” She smiled sweetly and held his gaze as he tried to stare her down.

“Fine,” he growled, dragged a chair back from the table directly opposite her, and lowered himself into it carefully. The officers accompanying him remained standing until a dark glance from their commander gave them permission to join the others at the table.

“Mister Tyler, how is it that you still have your weapon?”

“They like me.” Ham let a sneer flash across his face. “What do you want, Johnson? We’re a little busy up here and don’t have time for your games. Cut to the chase.”

“Which one of you is in charge?”

“It’s a team effort,” Julie answered evenly, ignoring the way he was looking at her. “What do you want?”

“Your ‘team’ is no longer needed now that we’re here.” Colonel Johnson made quote marks in the air as he spoke and his tone of voice made his disdain of the command structure clear.

“Meaning what?” Julie asked before Martin could. 

“We’re taking custody of the ship and the Visitor crew on board. The humans, of course, will be debriefed and sent home. Visitors are all prisoners of war under the protection of the United States of America. Other than a small team needed to pilot the ship to White Sands, the rest of the crew will be confined to quarters.”

Martin shook his head, but otherwise didn’t move. “You have no authority here. But we can discuss the transfer of several shuttles to your base as a gift to your government. I know there is interest in the technology we use.”

“Mister Tyler, you’ve served your country. Perhaps you can explain to your friends how this works.”

“Julie’s the one in charge. Explain it to her yourself.”

“We both know you’re the one leading this operation, not her,” Johnson said, glaring at Ham.

“She’s in charge of the resistance, not me. You might get further, though, if you talk to _her_ , not her chest. Most women find that annoying.”

“Have it your way,” Johnson muttered, then focused on Julie. “Ms. Parish, since you’re the one in charge, you can relay the orders. My officers and I have some questions for all of you, and then we’ll escort you to the surface.”

“You seem to be forgetting that our people are still prisoners in the hold. We’ve been reviving them as quickly as we can. But until everyone has been revived, they are our first priority.”

“Of course. But that process can be continued as we move the ship to White Sands and take the Visitors into custody.”

Julie shook her head. “You still don’t understand, do you? This ship has been badly damaged. We can’t take it anywhere. Martin and the others have been doing everything they can to keep it intact long enough to revive everyone. At any moment, though, this ship might break apart and fall into the ocean. Why do you think we’re hundreds of miles off shore? It’s not making the shuttle relays any faster. We can’t take the risk of dropping out of the sky and destroying most of Los Angeles in the process.”

“Then we’ll determine a route that will take us to White Sands with minimal risk to those on land. We’ve got an area set aside. Once we land the ship, we can continue reviving prisoners with lowered risks.” Johnson turned to the gentleman sitting next to him. “Go out and tell them to work out the best route.”

The young officer stood up and started for the door, pausing when it didn’t open as he expected it to. “Sir, the door won’t open.”

“Push on it, Smith,” Johnson said without turning around.

“Sit down, Smith,” Martin commanded in the same tone Johnson had used. “Pushing on it isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

Officer Smith hesitated, uncertain if he should actually push on the door or sit down. “Sir?”

“You’re not in charge here,” Martin said firmly. “We’re over international waters and outside the jurisdiction of your government. It’s going to stay that way. If you wish to risk your lives so you can stay and observe, I’ll see that you’re assigned quarters. But that’s going to be the limit of your involvement. Furthermore, no more humans are going to be sent to the base for you to hold for questioning. They’ve been through enough already. Your assistance in that regard is no longer wanted.”

“Open the door.”

“Are you returning to the surface?” Julie asked “Or do you want quarters assigned to you? If you intend to stay, you’ll need to make arrangements to have additional food shipped up. Our supplies are getting low.”

“This ship is now property of the United States Government!”

“We already discussed why that isn’t the case,” Julie reminded him in her most patient voice. “Have you had a concussion recently? That might account for the short-term memory loss you’re experiencing.”

“I’m fine! Just who do you think you are?”

“Who gave you the orders to come here?” Martin switched tactics, observing the blood vessels that were visibly throbbing in Colonel Johnson’s neck and right temple. He glanced at Lorraine, and she nodded imperceptibly before discreetly typing commands into the computer system. “Unfortunately, several of your highest government officials can no longer be trusted. Diana developed a form of mind control that has been very effective at removing one’s ability to exercise free will. Anyone who spent more than a few minutes on any of the ships is suspect until they can be examined.”

“There’s no such thing as mind control. And I don’t have to tell you anything about who gave the orders!”

“You don’t have to, no. But it would be most helpful to know your government’s official position on the fifth columnists and loyalists who have been stranded on Earth.”

“You seem to be quite agitated, Colonel Johnson. And you are sweating profusely. Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” Julie asked.

Colonel Johnson stood up so violently that his chair skidded back and tipped over. “You will set a course for White Sands immediately. And open that door!” he roared.

Lorraine looked over at Martin, notifying him with a glance that the new security team was ready. He stood up. “We’re done here.”

The doors to the conference room slid open and a half dozen unmasked fifth columnists filed in and waited for orders. “See that these individuals return to the surface on the next available shuttle. Their weapons should be returned to them as they disembark.”

“Yes, sir,” one of the fifth columnists said, and several of the humans startled when they realized the individual was female. She gazed back at them impassively, though Martin could tell that Heather was rather amused by the reaction she and the others were getting. It was exactly what Lorraine had intended.

“You can’t do this!” Colonel Johnson sputtered.

“Yes, he can,” Ham said from the corner where he’d been standing and watching. “And he just did.”

Colonel Johnson drew himself up straighter as he scowled at Martin, Julie, and Lorraine in turn. “We’re _not_ leaving.”

Heather held up a subcutaneous injector and looked at Martin. “Shall I?”

Martin looked blandly at the cantankerous soldier. “You can either walk, or be rendered unconscious with a drug and carried. The drug is safe and only lasts about a half hour. It’s your choice.”

“You wouldn’t dare! I would consider such action to be an act of war.”

“I don’t bluff. And you might consider for a moment that we could simply kill you and be done with it. I’m giving you the chance to leave on your own power.” Martin waited a long moment, then gave Heather permission with a glance.

She stepped forward and moved into Colonel Johnson’s personal space, tilting her chin up so she could look him in the eyes. She lowered her voice a little bit as she spoke in a blatantly flirtatious tone, “So, do I get to carry you?”

“Get away from me,” he snarled and backed up abruptly, revulsion evident on his face. The locked door hampered his backward motion, though it slid open a moment later, having been keyed open by Lorraine. The colonel stumbled backward, righted himself, and stomped towards the exit to Master control. 

Heather followed him, still speaking in soothing tones that carried back into the conference room. “First you swoon, then you invite pursuit. I had no idea you were so well versed in our mating habits.”

“Anyone else?” Martin asked hiding his amusement at Heather’s teasing only with great effort. He saw Julie wince but she said nothing. The remaining humans stayed standing, looking at the unmasked soldiers warily.

“This way, please,” another security guard said as she led the humans through the open doors, followed by the other fifth columnists. The doors slid shut behind them and Julie let out a sigh.

“Too bad Gooder didn’t bring his camera,” Ham said as he smiled wickedly. “That was a Kodak moment.”

Julie sank further into her chair at the table. “What a mess.” She looked over at Martin. “Do you think he was converted? He just kept repeating himself.”

“No, he didn’t show any of the other symptoms. I think that’s just the way he is.”

“It is,” Ham commented from the corner.

“At least he started making eye contact with me after you corrected him.” Julie sighed again. “If he _is_ acting on orders from the President, then it means the earlier broadcast isn’t being taken seriously. Ham, do you have any way of finding out what’s going on in Washington? And even more importantly, convincing them that the President and Vice President cannot be trusted?”

“I’ll see what my contacts can find out. But even if I call in some favors, my reach is limited.”

“We’re also running out of time. Who can we get to quickly that has more influence?” Martin asked. “If we bring them to the ship, show them what’s going on, maybe _they_ can get through.”

“How about the governor of California?” Julie suggested, looking to Ham for his opinion.

“Might work.” Ham put his other foot on the floor, no longer standing with his knee bent and the sole of his boot against the bulkhead. “He served in ‘Nam. That might help.

“How?” Julie frowned a bit as she tried to see the connection. 

“It gives him credibility with the boys in the Defense Department. Last election, he was vocal about keeping the bases open, too. The military likes him and he’s probably got connections in Appropriations in Congress, too.”

“I don’t see how that will help us get the President removed from office.” Julie rubbed her right temple as she rested her head on her hand, wishing she could remember more from her high school social studies class. “Technically, doesn’t Congress have to vote to impeach him?”

Ham shook his head. “Impeachment is only the first step, done by the House. Then the Senate has to follow with a conviction. But that’s the long way. Incapacitation is the other. I’d have to look up the details, but that’s our angle. If we can prove to the House Speaker and a key group in Congress that the President and VP are out of it, the Speaker becomes Acting President with authority over all of the military branches. If we can get to the Speaker, we can get Johnson and others like him reigned in.”

“Couldn’t Colonel Johnson be acting on his own?” Lorraine wanted to know.

Julie indicated the fridge with a nod and looked at Martin. “Is there any water in there?” she asked softly.

“Probably,” Martin answered just as softly and got up to check. He got one for her and held up another. “Ham?” In answer, Tyler held up his hand and caught it easily when Martin tossed the container to him. Lorraine mouthed her request and he set an energy drink on the table beside her before handing Julie her water and returning to his seat to drink his own beverage.

“Maybe,” Ham said, answering Lorraine’s question as he broke the seal on his container of water. “He might be gambling that getting this ship for the U.S. would protect him from reprimand after the fact. Stupid gamble, though, since Edwards AFB isn’t set up to handle several hundred POWs. They’re busy holding _our_ people.” Ham shook his head and smirked. “Idiots.”

Julie took a long drink before setting her container back on the table. “What _are_ we going to do about the crew?”

“It’s already been taken care of,” Martin told her as he sat down again.

“How?”

“They’ve been relocated to the surface.”

She blinked at that. “Where?”

“They’re with a Native American tribe located in Arizona and Mexico.”

Julie’s eyes went wide. She glanced at Ham and noticed he wasn’t surprised by this news. Or if he was, he wasn’t showing it.

The conference room doors slid open and Mike entered. “The first two shuttles are on their way to the TV station. What happened with the Air Force gang?” he asked, gesturing with a thumb over his shoulder.

“They didn’t want to leave,” Martin explained as Mike picked up the chair Colonel Johnson had knocked over and sat down in it.

“They tried to take charge of the ship and put the entire crew, including the fifth columnists, in custody,” Julie clarified. “But back to the loyalists. What happened?”

Martin looked at her evenly. “They had to go somewhere.”

“Meaning he wasn’t willing to kill them,” Ham added, looking at Julie as he spoke.

Martin shook his head. “Not given their ignorance of what was happening. As it is, we might be able to recruit them to our side when the ships come back.”

“So you just sent them to the surface?” Mike questioned, not believing what he was hearing. “Aside from the culture shock, what’s going to keep them from just organizing a revolt of their own?”

“They’ve been broken into groups of about 60 or so and sent to different areas all through the reservation. Right now I imagine Sam is keeping them busy with housing construction and introducing them to the tribal members. It’s going to be some time before they could organize a rebellion, and that’s assuming they even want to do so. They know we could have killed all of them and chose not to. They don’t have many options and they know it, so they’re likely to cooperate for the time being. In actuality, they have more legal protections from your government than the rest of us do. As Sam explained it, because they have been adopted by the tribe, they are now citizens of the United States. The coming months will provide them with plenty of chances to learn what humans are really like and undermine the Leader’s claims that you’re biped cattle. If we’re lucky, they’ll help the resistance when the ships come back. If not, they don’t have a lot of resources to fight with. They’ll soon figure out that their best chance of getting home is with the fifth column.”

“When did you come up with all of this?” Julie pressed the fingers of her right hand to her temple as she thought. She was starting to get a headache.

“I think it was about a week ago. I’ve been losing track of which day it is.”

“Why didn’t you say something about all of this before now?”

Martin looked her in the eye when he answered bluntly, “I didn’t realize I needed your permission.”

“You don’t! But I think we should know what’s going on.”

Martin softened his gaze. “You do. I just told you.”

“What about the fifth columnists still on board? Where are you all going to go?”

“Paul is working with the network on that. We’ll manage.”

“Depending on their own housing circumstances, some of our group can help too. I’m not going to be of any use though. I’ve lost my apartment, I’m sure. How about you, Mike?”

“I’ll be lucky if my landlord put my stuff into storage and not out in the trash.”

“What about your mother’s house? Can you stay there?” Martin suggested softly.

“Yeah, I’ll probably have to start there. But I can’t think about that right now.” Mike suppressed a shudder and focused on the matters at hand. “So what about the ship? Are you going to turn it over to the U.S. government like they demanded?”

“No. Once we’ve got everyone out, the ship is going into the Mariana Trench.”

Mike blinked at that. “Won’t that pollute the ocean?”

“Some. But we have to put it out of reach of everyone. We can’t risk it being stripped for parts to repair any of the other ships. Anything that survives the pressures at that depth will be impossible to retrieve. Our technology is all geared towards to withstand the vacuum of space, not the crushing forces present at that depth. Even if we managed to land it on the surface, which it’s not designed to do, we can’t be sure some idiot won’t try to move it later and take out half of North America in the attempt.”

Considering the matter closed, Martin took another ship of his drink and turned back to Julie. “Do you want to take a shuttle and approach the governor of California in person?”

*****

Rubbing the back of his neck in a futile effort to relieve his growing headache, Mike nodded is head towards the closed door Zachary was guarding. “Mind if I go in?”

“No. In fact, you might be able to help.”

“What’s up?”

“He’s not getting enough rest. He’s off duty right now, but not resting. None of us have the rank to force it, but maybe he’ll listen to you.”

Mike nodded, wondering a bit why the fifth columnists would cling so tightly to rank when they were no longer in the service, but filed the thought away for later. “I’ll do my best,” he promised the young soldier and pressed the door controls to gain entry.

Th doors parted and he took a half step forward before freezing in place when he realized were they were. Recovering himself, he stepped up to the railing where Martin was standing, peering out into the hold of now-empty storage pods. Only the closest of the sections were illuminated, letting the more distant pods vanish in the darkness that curved gently away from where they stood. A part of his mind heard the doors swish shut behind him, leaving them in a silence that echoed with the vastness of the open spaces before them.

“The governor wouldn’t talk to us,” Mike said quietly, not adding that they’d been met at gunpoint when the shuttle doors opened and told to leave immediately. The security team had refused to even relay a message until Mike had threatened to call a press conference discussing how the governor was unwilling to allow contact from a registered voter in his state when that voter had information that might be relevant to national security.

“I heard,” Martin said softly, his gaze still fixed on the empty hold.

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“What would you do in his place?” Martin countered softly.

“I hope I’d be willing to listen. Maybe they’ll come around.” Mike leaned on the railing. “So, why are you hanging out in here?”

“It’s a good place to think.”

“You’re brooding.”

“Maybe a little.” Martin smiled slightly and looked down at his hands where they gripped the top rail. “I needed a reminder that we’ve accomplished something.”

Mike nodded silently, turning his gaze to the empty storage pods. “Ever hear of the starfish parable?”1

“No.”

“And older guy went down to the beach and found a kid picking up starfish and flinging them out into the water.” Mike paused, remembering who he was talking to, and glanced at Martin. “Do you even know what a starfish is?”

Martin shook his head.

“They’re a kind of really primitive ocean animal with 5 arms coming off of a central body and a mouth is on the underside. Their nervous system is barely there, just enought to keep them alive. They crawl around on the ocean floor, eating coral and shellfish and whatever else they can find. I’ll take you to the aquarium sometime so you can see them.

“Anyway, the starfish all got washed up on shore, probably from a storm. And there are thousands of them all over the beach as far as you can see. So the old man asks the kid, ‘What are you doing?’”

“The kid answers ‘I’m saving the starfish. The surfs up and the tide’s going out. If I don’t help them, they’ll die.’”

“Of course, the old guy laughs at this and points to all the starfish on the beach. ‘Don’t you realize there are hundreds of miles of beach covered with starfish? There’s no way you can make a difference.’”

“The kid just picks up another one and tosses it as far as he can out into the waves. ‘Well, I made a difference for that one.’”

Martin nodded slightly as gaze grew distant. “There’s another storm heading towards us.”

“I know. But we can’t control the weather.” Mike rubbed his neck again, sighing as he did so.

Martin finally let go of the railing and turned towards him, “Headache?”

“Among other things.”

“Why don’t you go home?”

Mike just stood there, stunned at the suggestion.

“We’re almost done reviving everyone. Slipping away now would let you avoid the media when the other rebels leave in a few days. Go to your mother’s house and give yourself some time to grieve.”

“What about you? Where are you and the other fifth columnists going to go? My mother’s house is big enough if….”

Martin shook his head, “You need some time away from all this.” He pulled a slip of paper out of his vest and handed it to Mike. “Several of us will be at this address. Paul’s network on the surface can absorb the rest.”

Mike glanced at the paper. It listed an address and phone number in printing worthy of any elementary school teacher. How could he just go home? And how was it that once again, Martin seemed to have a better handle on what to do next than he did? Wasn’t it his planet? Shouldn’t he be the one offering guidance and making arrangements?

“You haven’t let yourself think about what you’re going to do now that you aren’t fighting, have you?”

Mike just shook his head mutely as he stared at the paper he held without really seeing it. Life without Sean was unthinkable. Even when he’d been traveling for stories, he was always thinking about the next visit, the next ball game, the next time they’d go get a haircut or stop for some pizza. “I don’t know how to do this.”

When Martin didn’t say anything, Mike looked up, searched the alien’s face for answers. “Sean… everything’s changed.”

“Yes, it has.”

Mike sighed and closed his eyes in defeat. He was definitely being sent away. For whatever reason, Martin wasn’t going to let him keep pretending his presence on the ship was helpful. Fighting the dismissal wasn’t in him. Not now. “Okay.”

“You can go with Damian. He wants to try to transfer all of the prisoner lists to the computers at the _Los Angeles Times_ so they can be published. If you help set up the initial meeting, it will help it go more smoothly.”

“Damian thinks he can get your computer systems to talk to he ones at the paper? They aren’t even in the same language and your computers are so much more advanced. How is that going to work?”

Martin gave a small, human shrug. “He knows the challenges and thinks he can do it. Given his record, I think he’ll succeed. But the newspaper has to agree to give him access to their systems.”

“And that’s going to take some real smooth talking and my reputation might help with that. Okay.” Mike rubbed his neck again,”So what about you?”

Martin looked at him questioningly.

“You look awful.”

That got him a raised eyebrow.

“I know it’s a mask, but the fatigue still shows. Zachary said you weren’t sleeping enough. I’m guessing you _can’t_ sleep.”

Martin turned away, “Don’t ask me to admit to something that could undermine my command, Mike.”

“Insomnia is a medical condition.”

“So is death.

“You _are_ in a mood.” Mike sighed, exhausted. “Okay, fine. At least stop by sick bay and get something that will knock you out for a few hours. No one has to know. Zachary won’t say anything, I’m sure of it.”

“Then you don’t know him very well. Secrets and threats are the currency of power. Zachary is simply too young to wield those weapons with greater skill.” Martin turned back to him at long last. Mike could almost see him reconstructing the facades, somehow mustering hidden reserves to hide his fatigue. “I’m fine. I’ve endured far worse than this, under more volatile circumstances.”

“Okay, you win. Give yourself an ulcer if you’re so determined to. I’ll go find Damian and see you in a couple of weeks. You know where to find me if you change your mind.” Mike spat, letting the hurt he felt slip into his words.

Without waiting for Martin’s reply, Mike stormed out. “Good luck,” he tossed to Zachary before stalking off to find Damian. Acting out let him ignore the gnawing feeling in his gut that Martin was right… he couldn’t take being on the ship any more. He wasn’t useful. The fifth columnists, no… be honest, Martin, didn’t need him any more. Julie was distant, having told him his life was in too much turmoil to make any long term decisions about their relationship. Even the task of helping Damian was made-up work, Mike admitted to himself. Damian was so charming and easy going he didn’t need a babysitter or PR agent. And damned if he’d let any of them see how alone he really was.

“Just like your mother,” a voice inside him said. “Look how she ended up.”

Mike ignored it, drowning out the thoughts by reciting his inventory of camera equipment, lost in one of the hasty evacuations from a rebel base, and prioritizing which to replace first. He was a journalist and he had a job to do… once he got his hands on a camera, he’d get back to work and everything would be normal again.

*****

When the doors closed behind Mike, Martin’s shoulders tightened. The conversation hadn’t gone well, and Martin reviewed it again, trying to figure out what had happened. Rather than seeing Martin’s lowered guard and confessed brooding as a show of trust, a gesture extended to a select few, Mike seemed offended he wouldn’t also admit to insomnia. His efforts to give Mike protection from the press, an early departure home, and an additional way to be genuinely helpful while doing so had not been well received, either.

Deciding it was probably due to Mike’s raw grief, he decided not to worry about it. And Mike _had_ offered a solution, albeit not in the way he’d intended. At this point, the risks were minimal and the temptation too great. Pleased with the idea Mike had given him, Martin glanced once more at the empty hold and headed for the exit.

 ****

 

1 Mike is retelling the story that originated in [_The Star Thrower_](http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0156849097?ie=UTF8&tag=mc_starfish-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0156849097) by Loren Eiseley. It has been altered and retold many times, so what you find in that book won’t match Mike’s version.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're at the end of polished text. Updates from here on out will be more sporadic and far apart, I'm afraid. I have not abandoned this story and have tons written and planned for future scenes. I mainly need to link them to what I have here and make sure everything stays consistent with what I've laid down as canon in this 'verse.   
> Thanks for reading and commenting!


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